


A Month of Love (and Other Feelings)

by Farky_Fark_and_the_Munky_Bunch



Category: One Piece
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Blood, Breathplay, Corsetry, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Double Anal Penetration, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Formalwear, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Handcuffs, Intercrural Sex, Jerk off Instruction, Lingerie, Masks, Massage, Master/Slave, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pec Fucking, Piercings, Rimming, Seduction, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Shibari, Shower Sex, Sthenolagnia (Muscle/Strength Kink), Suspension, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Trampling, Wax Play, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, ass worship, but one of the dicks is a dildo, very light CBT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 58,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farky_Fark_and_the_Munky_Bunch/pseuds/Farky_Fark_and_the_Munky_Bunch
Summary: A series of daily one-shots for February featuring various One Piece couples, based on one to two prompts each from old kink lists. Kinks and pairings will be listed in the chapter index and tags will be updated as I go.Fair warning, it's almost all going to be smut with context and ~feelings~ because apparently that's all I can write anymore.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Buggy, Bartolomeo/Cavendish (One Piece), Bellamy/Dellinger (One Piece), Coby/Helmeppo (One Piece), Franky/Nico Robin, Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Portgas D. Ace, Iceburg/Paulie (One Piece), Iceburg/Paulie/Rob Lucci/Kaku, Kaku/Rob Lucci, Koala/Sabo (One Piece), Monkey D. Luffy/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 17
Kudos: 128
Collections: One Piece Modern AU Connected Universe





	1. Biting (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few quick notes. First off, even though I marked this as part of my Modern AU collection, this chapter is actually set post-canon, during whatever final battle afterparty is sure to happen when we eventually reach that point in the story. Second, this ended up being way softer than I was intending, so, sorry about that. Most of the others will be a lot smuttier.

“There ain’t no way in hell ya beat more than I did!”

“I absolutely did! I counted over a thousand.”

“Bullshit. Hakuba doesn’t count.”

“Why not?!”

Bartolomeo and Cavendish were inches apart at the bar, the stack of empty mugs between them only worsening their usual acerbic back-and-forth. There was tension crackling in what little space there was between them, not wholly antagonistic, and the bartender crossed his arms over his chest as Cavendish grabbed onto the collar of Bartolomeo’s coat. 

“Oi, if you’re gonna fight, don’t do it in my bar.”

Zoro and Sanji had already cracked a table in half during an earlier bout, as if the state of the surrounding warzone wasn’t bad enough, and he wasn’t eager to take any more unnecessary damage to the property. 

“Ya heard him, Captain,” someone from the Barto Club cried out drunkenly. “Go knock his ass flat in the street!”

Bartolomeo grinned and swayed to his feet, making a rolling gesture toward the door as Cavendish stumbled up beside him. 

“After you, Cabbage.”

A series of whoops and hollers followed as Cavendish raised a foot and forcefully kicked Bartolomeo out of the bar’s swinging doors with a boot to the ass, some more knowing than others. 

Although no one had seen the way that Bartolomeo had broken down into immediate sobs of relief at the sight of Cavendish bloodied but alive after the battle or the way that they had fallen easily into an embrace that was equal amounts desperation and comfort, the sentiment was still clear enough to those who weren’t too dense or drunk to see it. 

Seeing the two of them snapping at each other and generally being too much in the other’s personal space wasn’t an uncommon thing, but Cavendish had been particularly alert, not letting Bartolomeo out of his sight for a moment, and when an earlier spat had brought them nose to nose at the bar, Barto had almost very clearly shifted into a kiss. 

They stumbled out into the nearby alley, just drunk enough not to care about finding a place with a little more privacy before they were on top of each other. Cavendish cried out when he was slammed bodily into the nearby wall, its rough brick catching in the soft fabric of his tunic and rucking it halfway up his stomach in the process. 

Bartolomeo fell to his knees, zeroing in on that patch of newly uncovered skin and tilting his head to sink his teeth firmly into Cavendish’s jutting hipbone. 

“Ah—Barto, fuck!”

Cavendish’s head fell back against the wall, his jaw slack as Bartolomeo lapped at the quickly bruising skin. 

Bartolomeo’s blood was singing through his veins, hot and frantic from the burn of too much sake and a rare possessive streak. "You're mine," he growled, one of his fangs catching in the dip of Cavendish's navel as he bit down hard enough to draw blood. "Tired of pretendin' ya ain't."

The sight of Cavendish's pale skin smeared with red made him look upward, but all that met him was Cavendish's steady gaze, the blue of his eyes swallowed in black as he anchored his fingers in Bartolomeo's hair.

"Don't stop."

Bartolomeo brought his hands to Cavendish's hips, easing his trousers down to his knees to give himself more space to work with. He ducked his head out of the way when Cavendish's half-hard cock sprang free to smack him unceremoniously across the cheek, ignoring it for the time being in favor of suctioning his lips to his thigh.

Once the skin had turned dark and Cavendish's panting had turned to moans, Bartolomeo shifted again, moving to the junction where his thigh met his pelvis and sinking in his teeth.

There was something about drawing Cavendish's blood from his veins, knowing it was his and not whosever the stains on their soaked clothes belonged to, that sent a surge of relief through Bartolomeo. He was alive. _They_ were alive, against all odds. And he could _taste_ it in the metallic tang that coated his tongue.

"Come here," Cavendish said hoarsely, drawing his nails in an upward arc across Bartolomeo's scalp as he urged him to stand. "I want to kiss you."

It started chaste, almost sweet despite their inebriation and desperation. Then Bartolomeo gripped Cavendish's jaw with his calloused fingers and tilted his head, turning it into something deeper. Cavendish's significantly smaller, blunter teeth raked across Bartolomeo's bottom lip and Barto's eyes flew open in surprise. They parted, his lip still stinging, and Cavendish met his wide-eyed gaze with a dark, hooded stare.

Not seeing any signals to dissuade him, Cavendish moved lower, nipping at the edge of Bartolomeo's jaw. Barto's hands slipped from his face, finding purchase on Cavendish's slim hips and then bruising them with a sudden white-knuckled grip as he bit into the side of Bartolomeo's neck.

Cavendish laughed at the strangled sound he made, answering the question in his harried gaze with a low purr.

"You're mine too, you know, Bartolomeo."

"Oh," he managed. He looked between them, blinking a few times as he seemed to remember where they were. Both halfway to drunk, pressed together in an alleyway, Cavendish's cock warm and hard against Bartolomeo's bare stomach as they staked their claim on each other. Suddenly, it wasn't enough.

Cavendish was sucking a dark mark into Bartolomeo's collarbone when the younger man looped his arms beneath Cavendish's ass and hefted him up. Cavendish shifted willingly enough, his long legs tight against the sides of Bartolomeo's chest, kept from wrapping any further by the tangle of cloth caught around his boots.

Bartolomeo didn't seem bothered by the awkward position. He adjusted to keep Cavendish supported with one arm and brought his other hand up to his lips, interrupting their journey along his chest.

"Suck."

He did, licking across his Bartolomeo's fingertips, letting spit pool below his tongue to coat his thick fingers as he maintained unflinching eye contact. He watched the thin red ring of Bartolomeo's irises disappear completely as he took the digits deeper into his throat, stomach swooping when he gagged and Barto's hips jerked in reply.

A moment later those wet fingers were prodding against his ass, Bartolomeo's usual precision muddled by the alcohol and the faint trembling of his body. 

When they both pushed roughly past his rim, Cavendish squirmed, features screwing up at the answering wave of pain. 

“‘M sorry,” Bartolomeo murmured, not withdrawing his fingers, but pressing them in deeper, his head dropping down and teeth piercing the flesh above the thrum of Cavendish’s heartbeat. 

The sting was distracting, and the sharp arch of Cavendish’s spine only pressed his chest deeper into the bite. It hurt, both the dig of Bartolomeo’s teeth and the too-dry press of his fingers, but he was too drunk to care, too relieved to be able to still feel pain to want to bring it to an end. 

Cavendish’s bleary vision caught movement from below him and when he saw Bartolomeo fumbling with the hem of his pants, he shook his head, a little frantically. 

“I can’t take you like this, Bartolomeo.”

Barto nodded and pulled away from his chest to mumble against Cavendish’s shoulder. “Gonna use your thighs. Jus’ need to feel ya.”

His loose trousers fell to catch at the tops of his boots and he spat directly onto the bruised expanse of Cavendish’s inner thighs before sliding his cock between them. The space was slick with spit and blood, smearing in streaks across Cavendish’s pale skin as Bartolomeo rocked into it with a low groan. 

The pads of Bartolomeo’s fingers finally managed to brush across the spot he’d been searching for, making Cavendish cry out as the already drunken flush of his cheeks darkened considerably. A swell of sound from within the bar reminded them that they were very close to other people and Cavendish bit into the thick muscle of Bartolomeo’s chest to muffle his sounds of pleasure. 

This was far from the first time that they had found themselves in a similar position, or even that they had found particular pleasure in leaving marks on one another. That said, if Cavendish was sober, he would have been mortified by how easily he was accepting Bartolomeo’s teeth against his skin, in places that wouldn’t be hidden come morning as they usually were. Bartolomeo was _gnawing_ at his shoulder, too fuck drunk and booze drunk alike to manage much more than the occasional grunt from between his clenched teeth as he chased his orgasm with a jerky, uneven rhythm. 

His pace grew frantic as Cavendish nipped just above the erratic bob of his Adam’s apple, coming with a snarl as he added streaks of cum to the mess between Cavendish’s thighs. The fumbling press of his fingers against Cavendish’s prostate faltered as he stilled and Cavendish dropped a hand between them to push himself over the edge, leaving dull, throbbing marks in the meat of Bartolomeo’s palm as he weakly offered it to help stifle the cry that tried to tear from Cavendish’s throat. 

“We did it,” Bartolomeo mumbled when he had enough of a presence to speak again. “We won.”

Cavendish nodded into the curve of his neck. 

They had, despite having numbers against them, despite the futility of taking on the entire World Government with nothing more than a ragtag fleet of allies and the Pirate King’s crew. They had won, but the uncertainty of what would follow was terrifying. 

“Yes,” Cavendish agreed softly. “We won. And for now, that calls for celebration, so…” He pressed his lips to the gap between Bartolomeo’s bloodied, jutting fangs. “Your ship or mine?”

* * *

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you, Bartolomeo.”

“You’re gonna kill _me_?” he repeated incredulously. “Look what _you_ did! ‘Sides, ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now.”

Cavendish groaned, his already aching head throbbing harder as the vein at his temple pulsed. They stood side by side in front of the mirror in Cavendish’s cabin, staring at their reflections with futile regret. At least it was obvious that Bartolomeo had been attacked by a particularly voracious lover, but Cavendish looked like he had been _mauled_. And they were due on the Thousand Sunny in a few short minutes. 

“C’mon.” Bartolomeo pulled on his coat with a wince, doing absolutely nothing to hide the bite marks that littered his neck and exposed chest. “No use waitin’.”

The deck of the Thousand Sunny was already packed with familiar faces when they stepped onto it, the simultaneous thud of their boots loud even over the clamoring of the Straw Hats and their allies. A few heads turned to see who had joined the still raging party and a brief, pointed hush fell over the crowd before it was broken by a loud guffaw from Ideo.

“Subtle,” Suleiman drawled from his spot against the railing, earning a glower from his captain. 

“Oi! Cabbage! Lomeo!” Luffy came swinging down from the figurehead, arms stretching to wrap them both in a high velocity hug that brought their heads crashing together. He pulled back when Cavendish let out a cry of pain, grin unwavering as he looked at them curiously. “Did you get in another fight? I’ll kick their ass!” He laughed, bright and a little too piercing for the two older, very hungover, men. 

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Zoro said with a smirk, lips loosened by his own state of inebriation. “I think their asses have been pretty well taken care of.”

Cavendish’s hand fell to Durandal’s hilt and Bartolomeo scrambled to stop him from getting into a fight, even as his cheeks burned. 

Luffy shrugged, perfectly content to let Zoro’s comment fly over his head as he bounded off to go bother someone else. Once he was gone, Zoro spoke up again.

“It’s okay now, ya know. Safe, I mean.” He was speaking to the other two pirates, but his gaze was locked on the other side of the deck, where Sanji was twirling toward Nami with a tray of drinks in hand. “We won’t be hunted anymore, at least for a while. Not if Luffy has anything to say about it. So, they won’t be able to hurt either of you to get to the other.”

Bartolomeo and Cavendish exchanged a glance, the latter relaxing as Zoro looked back at them with an uncharacteristically soft expression. “Just sayin’.”

He stood and took his leave, wandering toward the other side of the ship.

Cavendish looked up and rested a hand against Bartolomeo’s chest, fingertips brushing over the bruise above his stuttering heartbeat.

“He’s right. We don’t _need_ to hide anymore.”

“Little late for that anyway isn’t it?” Barto answered. He hooked an arm around Cavendish’s waist, drawing him up onto his toes. “Come sail the New World with me, Cabbage.”

Cavendish grinned, and when he closed the distance between them to kiss him, in full view of their friends and allies, it was as good an answer as any other.


	2. Shibari (Iceburg/Paulie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, welcome to day two! If anyone’s interested in looking it up, the harness tie used in this chapter is called hon kikkou, just, imagine it without boobs, cause 99% of rope bondage guides assume it’s a woman being tied up and not a man. Also, real quick plug: this is set in my Modern AU that I made, so if you haven’t stumbled across it already and want to read more Iceburg/Paulie content, I wrote a longer one-shot that covers the very beginning of the relationship that’s featured below

Paulie had always been comfortable with rope. When he was a Boy Scout, the first merit badge he’d ever earned was for pioneering. He’d helped with the rigging on the ships in the harbor for a few hours after school each night when he was sixteen, his first unofficial job, and had always enjoyed the way the knots formed beneath his fingers. When he was a little older and had turned to fully pursue his academic career, he’d brought rope back into his life again, learning increasingly intricate knots to tie across his lovers’ bodies, for aesthetics, or restraint, or both, but also for his own enjoyment. 

What he wasn’t used to was being the one beneath the rope.

It was a royal blue length of jute being very slowly and meticulously tied across his chest. He could feel it rubbing against his wrists where they were bound behind his back, pressing taut against his ribs with every increasingly ragged inhalation. 

Iceburg sat in front of him on the bed, brow furrowed in concentration. He would study the papers strewn between them for a long moment, then bring his fingers back to the rope again to make another cross, or tighten another knot. They had been there for ten minutes so far and although Iceburg was still calm and focused, Paulie was becoming increasingly agitated, and was already very aroused.

“Iceburg…”

“Mmm?”

He glanced up from the printed guide, glasses slipping down his nose, and Paulie couldn’t bite back the moan that rose in his throat. 

“Can’t you hurry up?”

“Why?” A faint smile turned up the corners of Iceburg’s lips. “Are you getting impatient?”

Paulie nodded, the flush across his chest deepening around the pattern of ropes that spanned it. 

“I suppose I can just try to wrap this up,” Iceburg mused, gaze dropping down again, pausing momentarily to admire the strain of Paulie’s hard cock before falling back to the diagrams he’d been studying. “But I was looking forward to seeing the final product on you.”

Paulie huffed out a breath through his parted lips, desire and frustration both only making him more eager. 

“Just…where are you?”

Iceburg hummed idly, scanning the papers before lifting one and turning it so that Paulie could see. “Here. I just brought the ends around to the front again.” He traced a finger along the diamond pattern resting between Paulie’s nipples and then pointed to the matching picture. “And I’m going to be tying a knot at the back in just a moment.”

When Paulie nodded and began to gnaw on his bottom lip to keep from groaning out his aggravation, Iceburg looked at him in amusement. 

“You were exceedingly willing to entertain this idea half an hour ago. I know I’m not the ropes expert that you are, but, I thought I was working at a reasonable pace. What’s made you so antsy, Paulie?”

“I wasn’t hard half an hour ago,” Paulie answered, his voice an audible and embarrassing whine. “I want to be inside you, Burg. Please.”

“As much as I appreciate your manners,” Iceburg started, resuming the steady movements of his fingers along the rope. “Not yet. This wasn’t even supposed to be inherently sexual, I just wanted to understand what it is you love so much about seeing me in rope.”

“I love seeing you in rope and then fucking you in rope, Iceburg. It was implied.”

“Oh, was it?”

His eyes canted up again, twinkling above the dark rims of his glasses and making Paulie’s dick twitch in answer.

“Maybe I should tie another rope after this one,” Iceburg mused. He trailed his fingers lightly along the underside of Paulie’s erection before fitting them in a tight ring at the base by way of explanation. “Make sure I think you’ve waited long enough before I give you what you want. But then…” He tapped a finger against his lips as Paulie swore through his clenched teeth. “Mmm, ah, but then I would have to find another guide, and print it off…”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Paulie snapped, eyes rolling. “Just find instructions on your phone, old man.”

Iceburg chuckled and Paulie, desperate as he was becoming, was still glad that Iceburg was in a particularly teasing mood. Usually, even a joke about his age could send Iceburg into a guilt-ridden crisis about their—perfectly acceptable—age gap, so Paulie generally tread lightly. 

“And you were being so polite just a moment ago.” Iceburg moved with relative ease through the next step of the tutorial, earning a low groan as he rose from the bed and began gathering the accumulated strands into a square knot at the center of Paulie’s spine. “I’ll try to hurry.”

Iceburg took his time perfecting the knot before running the loose ends back under Paulie’s bound forearms and through the center diamond, stretching it out into a surprisingly symmetrical hexagon that spanned his rapidly expanding and contracting ribcage.

He paused to give Paulie a placating kiss on the lips, and Paulie nearly toppled forward in his eagerness to return it, only barely managing to scrape his teeth across Iceburg’s bottom lip before he was pulling away again.

“Almost finished,” he promised.

This was only Iceburg’s third attempt at using rope himself, though his first two attempts he’d tried alone, using simple ties across his own body for practice. Paulie had warned him that the design he’d selected was a difficult one, but Iceburg was handling it well. It was only because of the meticulous care he was paying to each step of the instructions that it was proving so successful, but, though he would never admit it to Paulie, he had been steadily losing focus since he’d placed the first bit of folded rope across his waist. Paulie looked exquisite, the blue of the dyed rope vibrant against his tanned, flushed skin, and even if Paulie wasn’t hard and growing temptingly desperate, Iceburg wouldn’t be unaffected.

With trembling fingers, Iceburg carried the ropes back under Paulie’s arms one final time, scrambling off of the bed to fit the ends neatly into the starburst pattern in the center of his back and finish the intricate design. He took a moment to admire the strain of Paulie’s shoulders, bare between the lengths of rope across his arms and along the curve of his neck. Trailing his fingers in a familiar pattern across his freckles, he kissed his cheek. 

“I’m going to help you up.”

Paulie nodded, perking up again as Iceburg helped him to his feet, steadying him when he wobbled and then guiding him until they were positioned in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

Paulie’s breath caught at the sight of his reflection, releasing in a weak, shuddery moan when he met Iceburg’s dark gaze.

“You look magnificent, Paulie.”

“Only cause of you,” he breathed. “Fuck, Burg, it looks good. You’re a natural.”

“A quick learner,” Iceburg corrected. “And a dedicated student.” He brushed his fingertips across the knots and loops, tracing the center hexagon, tweaking teasingly at one of Paulie’s nipples. When his hand skimmed across his taut belly and closed in a loose fist around his cock, Paulie arched into him. 

“God, Iceburg, yes, please.”

“If you want,” Iceburg murmured into the curve of Paulie’s neck, placing a light kiss against the strand of rope that crossed it. “I can just use my hand, or my mouth. We can try the rest some other day.”

Paulie considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “I-I still want to.” His gaze flicked up to meet Iceburg’s. “If you do.”

“I do,” Iceburg confirmed. He gave Paulie a few more firm strokes before withdrawing his hand to settle on his waist. “Is the dining room fine? Or would you rather I bring a chair in here?”

“Dining room’s fine. Just, use one of our chairs. I don’t want to have guests over for dinner knowing they’re sitting in a chair you’ve tied me to.”

Iceburg chuckled and nodded for Paulie to lead the way. “Fair enough.”

As Paulie left the room, Iceburg retrieved two much smaller bundles of natural hemp rope. He caught up to Paulie with ease and knelt the moment he sat down. 

One length of rope looped around Paulie’s ankles, tying them securely to the feet of the chair, and the other he ran underneath the central knot at Paulie’s back and through the slats of the chair. When he’d finished off both sets he rose to his feet again.

“How does it feel?”

Paulie shifted, testing his range of motion. His shoulders and calves were tight against the chair, but he had enough slack to raise his hips, which was all he really needed. 

“Good. Really good.”

Iceburg hummed his approval, taking one last moment to fully appreciate the sight of Paulie dressed up and bound in rope. 

Once he’d had his fill, and Paulie had cast him a very impatient look, he stepped out of his boxer briefs. 

After getting off work and going out to dinner, they had come home, knowing full well where the evening was heading. They’d taken the time to shower, kissing and touching softly beneath the warm water. There had been a thrill of anticipation already hanging in the air, but they’d managed to keep things from getting too heated too soon. When Paulie slipped out of the shower with a parting kiss, Iceburg had stayed under the spray for a few more long moments, working himself open in preparation and maintaining the stretch with one of their moderately sized plugs. He’d made it to the bedroom to find Paulie naked and eager, with a dozen cords of rope lined up on the bed between them. And that had gotten them here.

Iceburg let out a soft sigh as he worked the plug free, and then a low groan as he sank down onto Paulie’s cock without preamble. 

Paulie’s shoulders twitched, his wrists turning feebly behind his back as he moved instinctively to grip Iceburg’s hips and found himself unable to move.

Iceburg just sat for a few long moments, enjoying the familiar stretch and the frustrated huffs of breath from Paulie’s open mouth.

“Can you…move?” He bucked his hips up as much as his bonds allowed him, only for Iceburg to press him back firmly onto the chair. 

“I’m quite comfortable right here.”

“You’re killin’ me, Burg.” Paulie’s voice wasn’t anything less than a whine and Iceburg chuckled at the sound of it. 

“You hardly look like you’re dying.”

Slowly, _slowly_ , he rose up, then just as slowly sank back down, ripping a husky groan out of Paulie. When he was settled again Iceburg stilled once more, lifting one finger to follow the pattern across Paulie’s chest, meticulously tracing from the lines along his neck to the ones that held his waist.

“What do you like better?” Iceburg’s intonation was even, almost bored, but Paulie could see the shine of curiosity in his steady gaze. “Tying me up, or being tied up?”

“Both,” Paulie panted. “But, you look better in ropes than I do, Burg.”

Iceburg idly flattened his hand, splaying it within the bounds of the harness’s central hexagon and feeling the rapid thrum of Paulie’s heartbeat beneath his palm.

“I beg to differ. Truly, Paulie,” Iceburg looked down at him from above his dangerously slipping glasses and felt Paulie’s cock give a fitful throb. “You look stunning.”

Paulie groaned. His chest had long since gone red beneath the ropes with a deep flush, and his cheeks colored to match. 

“I love you so damn much, Iceburg, and I’m so glad to hear you think I’m attractive, but for the love of God, if you don’t _move_ —”

The end of his sentence was swallowed by a ragged gasp, his head lolling back to land on the table with a soft thunk.

With his feet planted flat on the floor, Iceburg was able to move with ease, setting a steady pace. He rocked back and forth, flexing the muscles of his thighs on every upward stroke. The angle allowed for enough movement to give them both the friction they were seeking, but still keep Paulie deep within the grip of Iceburg’s tight, slick walls with each roll of his hips. 

Iceburg leaned in, tipping Paulie’s chin forward again so he could draw him into a long, slow kiss. Paulie deepened it, licking across the roof of Iceburg’s mouth and then grunting low in his chest when Iceburg sucked on his tongue in response. When they separated they were both breathing heavily. 

Paulie’s head fell forward to rest against Iceburg’s shoulder and Iceburg pressed a series of kisses along his bearded jaw, his hands massaging along Paulie’s waist in an absent rhythm.

Pressed as close as they were, Iceburg could feel the drag of the ropes across his own chest with each rise and fall. Caught between them, his cock rubbed insistently against the knot above Paulie’s navel, the rhythmic friction across the head dizzying in its intensity. His hole clenched unthinkingly around Paulie’s dick in response to the sensation, and Paulie let out a strangled, incoherent sound. 

“Close,” he gasped, a shudder working itself through his frame as he squirmed fruitlessly in his bonds. “Sorry, Iceburg, but, I’m so close.”

Iceburg just nodded, unable to form a proper response. He hooked a finger underneath the cross-section of rope that rested below Paulie’s Adam’s apple, watching it bob as he swallowed audibly, his gaze dark and unfocused. Iceburg released it a moment later, the rope snapping back against Paulie’s throat just as Iceburg slammed his hips down, and Paulie came with a wail.

Usually, he would have Iceburg’s hips in a vice grip, anchoring himself to something, _anything_ as his orgasm tore through him. But bound as he was, he couldn’t do anything except feel it in all of its intensity, liquid heat spreading from the pit of his stomach to his extremities in a sudden, overwhelming rush. 

“Ngh, ah—”

Eyes rolling back, Paulie bucked feebly, toes twitching against the hardwood as Iceburg’s relentless rocking milked him of every last drop. 

When Paulie’s head connected with the tabletop once more, Iceburg gripped his own erection, glad that Paulie wasn’t coherent enough to witness just how few strokes it took before he was coming across Paulie’s chest and painting his carefully crafted design in ropes of cum. 

Iceburg slumped forward, resting his weight against Paulie’s chest as he began to feebly untie his binds with shaking fingers. It was easy enough to free him from the chair, but by the time Iceburg managed to grant enough slack for Paulie’s arms to slip from the ropes, Paulie had recovered enough to move them immediately around Iceburg’s back. 

“You made a mess of my rope, Burg.”

Iceburg snorted softly into the crook of his neck. “Mmm, my apologies.”

“It’s okay,” Paulie answered, and Iceburg was expecting to hear something along the lines of ‘it looks good with your cum all over it,’ but instead, when Paulie continued, it was to say “You got the hang of ropework, now it’s time for rope maintenance. Go get me a glass of water and I’ll talk you through it.”

Iceburg pulled back enough to meet Paulie’s gaze, one eyebrow quirking upward. “Is it always the one who ties the rope that cleans it afterwards?”

“Always.” 

“Mm. Then, Paulie?”

He darted forward, bumping Iceburg’s glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with the force of his quick, impulsive kiss. 

“Yeah?”

“Remind me to just let you tie me up from now on.”

Paulie laughed and rolled his eyes. 

“Alright. Whatever you say, Iceburg.” He flashed Iceburg a playful wink and tapped his fingers against the temples of his glasses. “You’re the boss.”


	3. Phone/Video Sex+Sex Toys (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! This is the first and only time I’m gonna say it so I don’t annoy you, but, this and every other BartoDish chapter that’s going to come after this is set in my Modern AU and is just somewhere in the timeline of that specific iteration of their relationship. You don’t need to read my separate story for them to understand any of these, but it’s there if you’re feeling it.

Bartolomeo was sprawled across the couch, idly watching TV with Durandal asleep on his chest when his phone chimed. He reached for it, saw that the text was from Cavendish, and unlocked his phone.

_‘Can I Facetime you?’_

Bartolomeo frowned slightly. They had talked on the phone just a couple of hours ago, and by now Cavendish was almost assuredly back in his hotel room and getting ready to go to sleep. 

The phone vibrated in his hand. 

_‘Please?’_

Sending a _‘yeah sure’_ in response, he waited a few seconds for the video call to come through and then swiped to answer. 

When Cavendish’s face appeared, he looked…distracted. Gaze not quite focused on the camera, lips parted, skin flushed. He released a shuddering sigh at the sight of his partner and Bartolomeo swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. 

“Hey, babe. Everything alright?”

“Alright?” Cavendish echoed. “Yes. Everything’s alright, I just…” The view shifted slightly, as though jostled by movement outside the frame. Cavendish’s teeth caught his bottom lip and Bartolomeo recognized the telltale effort of keeping himself quiet. “I want you,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet Barto’s gaze, watching as his pupils expanded. “I’m so hard it hurts and I thought I could get myself off, but, I needed to see you. Couldn’t do it without you.”

Bartolomeo let out a shaky breath, his cock stirring eagerly to life at Cavendish’s candid admission. “Fuck, Cav, that’s hot.”

“Yeah?” He resituated his phone, propping it up against what Barto assumed was probably the hotel’s standard issue alarm clock. The new angle allowed Bartolomeo to see the expanse of Cavendish’s chest, heaving with the effort of each breath, and the steady movements of his hand across his dick. 

“Yeah.” All of the blood in his body was rushing downwards so quickly that Bartolomeo felt a little woozy. “ _Fuck_ yeah, baby, goddamn you’re so sexy. I, uh—” He cleared his throat. “Hang on just a sec, Cav. Lemme move to the bedroom, I don’t wanna jack it while Durandal’s on top of me.”

Cavendish let out a breathless little laugh and Durandal meowed in indignation when Bartolomeo hastily shooed him away and made a beeline for the bedroom. When the door was shut and he had scrambled up to lean against the pillows, he found a spot to put his phone and heard Cavendish moan approvingly at the new view. 

“Can I see you, Barto?” he asked sweetly, nodding in encouragement when Bartolomeo started squirming out of his pants. “Mmm…” He licked his lips when his boyfriend’s cock sprang free, voice coming out in a low purr. “Perfect.”

“What got you so riled up?” Bartolomeo asked, spitting into his palm and starting up a rhythm that at least matched the lag he was receiving from Cavendish’s end. 

“I was looking through some of the pictures from this week before going to sleep, and I found…a few that apparently hadn’t made it into my private folder yet.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” He knew exactly which ones, but he wanted to hear Cavendish say it.

“The ones I took of you before I left town. Cuffed to the headboard with my dick down your throat.”

Barto’s cock twitched into the slick slide of his fist and he squeezed slightly to try and staunch the sudden rush of arousal tightening in his gut. 

“God,” Cavendish continued softly, his breathing ragged. “I wish you were here right now. I want you buried so far up my ass that when you come I’ll be coughing it up.”

Bartolomeo snorted out a laugh at that mental image and took a moment to just watch what Cavendish was doing. He had one hand low enough on his cock that a few fingers could brush across his balls and the other splayed across his stomach, thumb circling and occasionally dipping into his navel. They both knew just how sensitive he was there and _fuck_ , Barto wished he could replace that teasing finger with his tongue and lick into that little dip until Cavendish was shaking and demanding to be touched. 

“I want that too. Did ya pack anything that you could use for me?”

Cavendish’s brow furrowed for a moment before he nodded. “I think so. You want to see me fill up my ass for you?”

“Yes, _baby, please_.” 

Cavendish scrambled off of the bed and out of frame, returning a moment later with a few travel packets of lube and, oh…

Bartolomeo blushed. 

“Ya brought that one?”

“Little Barto?” Cavendish asked with feigned innocence, successfully turning Bartolomeo’s flush a few shades deeper. “Yes I did.”

Bartolomeo could hear the smug amusement in Cavendish’s voice, because they both knew how he felt about the dildo Cavendish was currently holding. Cavendish had purchased a certain…kit, and when he’d very sweetly asked his boyfriend to make a mold of his dick to be turned into a realistic silicone recreation, Barto had turned bright red, but marched straight to the bedroom nonetheless. 

Bartolomeo slowed the pace of his fist, watching raptly as Cavendish slicked up his hand and began to finger himself open. By the time he was three fingers deep they were both panting, Cavendish’s head thrown back and Barto’s teeth clenched so tightly together his jaw was beginning to ache. 

“Please, Cav,” he ground out desperately. “Please, _please_ just put it in, I’m so hard, you’re so _hot_ , I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

Cavendish withdrew his fingers and only paused for long enough to pour another packet of lube onto the dildo before positioning himself on his knees and sinking down onto it. He flailed out with one hand for his phone, moving it to rest against one of the pillows at the end of the bed so that Bartolomeo could watch him ride the plastic copycat cock to his completion. 

_“Shit, fuck, god—god fuckin’ damn you’re gorgeous.”_

Cavendish moaned, low and guttural, his eyes barely parted slits. “You feel so good inside of me, Bartolomeo.” And then they both groaned together, and Bartolomeo feverishly wished he had something that mimicked Cavendish’s ass as closely as the dildo did his own cock.

Cavendish seemed able to sense his thoughts. “You could grab—”

Bartolomeo was already nodding, very much on the same wavelength as he moved to the edge of the bed and began rooting around in the top drawer of their dresser. After a moment he found what he was looking for, and grabbed one of the half-empty bottles of lube to go with it.

“Use more than you need,” Cavendish piped up, only barely continuing to rotate his hips as he watched Bartolomeo’s movements on the screen. “I want to be able to hear it.”

Barto groaned, head bobbing in affirmation as he snapped the lube back open and let an obscene amount fall into the puckered rubber hole of the sleeve in his hand. 

“Good,” Cavendish murmured in approval, and then, again, more to himself. _“Good.”_

Bartolomeo pushed aside his embarrassment at being on such open display and closed his eyes to avoid the intensity of Cavendish’s stare as he slowly pushed the toy onto his aching cock. His cheeks colored at the wet squelch it emitted but when he opened his eyes again, Cavendish looked positively _wrecked_.

“Fuck it for me, Bartolomeo. I want to see you come.”

Holding the tube in one trembling hand, Barto shifted back and then thrust into it, eyes rolling back at how disgustingly _easy_ the slide of it was along his dick. Even the tiniest movements produced slick, wet noises that, judging by Cavendish’s reactions, carried easily through his mic. 

“Talk to me,” Cavendish demanded, resettling and bringing a hand around to work the dildo in time with Bartolomeo’s increasingly jerky movements. 

“It’s so fuckin’ wet,” Barto groaned. The narrow opening sucked greedily at the head of his cock every time he started to pull it back and he could never get more than halfway up before his wrist was snapping back down to return it to the textured grip of the channel. “Feels like you do when I’ve already come in your ass and we’re goin’ for round two. Still tight, but, so goddamn _sloppy_.”

“Mmm. Good. You like me like that.”

“I like ya like everything, Cav,” Bartolomeo responded, pausing midway through his sentence to pant audibly in an attempt to pull himself back from a particularly close call. “You’re perfect.”

“Don’t stop yourself,” Cavendish intoned firmly, his head tipping back as he bumped the dildo against his prostate and let out a soft cry. “I said—I said I wanted to see you come.”

“Al-already?” Barto asked, the blush across his cheeks deepening even as Cavendish shrugged dismissively. 

“Alright.”

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine that the toy that had his cock in a vice grip was Cavendish’s ass, and then belatedly remembering that Cavendish was there, essentially, and reopening them to focus on the video.

The surprisingly clear image of Cavendish’s hole stretched wide to accommodate his replicated cock clicked perfectly in place with the feeling of the tight, slick channel as he pushed it down and bucked his hips into it simultaneously, vaguely aware of Cavendish murmuring his appreciation over the ringing in his ears as he filled the toy with cum.

The moment Bartolomeo managed to open his eyes again he was rewarded with the sight of Cavendish arched sharply against the headboard, cock twitching in his grip as he came across his chest. 

For a few minutes the line was silent save for the sound of each of them trying to catch their breath and the faint static of the call itself. It was Cavendish who managed to speak again first. 

“Thank you. That was a lot better than it would’ve been if I had just tried to jerk off alone.”

Bartolomeo grunted his affirmation, setting aside the sleeve and picking his phone back up. “Happy to help.” He idly traced a finger along the image of Cavendish’s jaw. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Cavendish said with a smile, and then laughed softly as he teasingly waved the dildo in front of the camera. “Clearly.”

Bartolomeo snorted, his blush returning as Cavendish grinned. 

“Get to sleep, Cabbage. It’s late.”

“Yeah, alright.” In a gesture as sweet as it was futile, he pressed his lips to the camera and made an exaggerated smacking sound. “Good night, Bartolomeo.”

“‘Night, Cav.”

In the moment of hesitation before either of them could be the first to hang up, Cavendish spoke again, and Bartolomeo stopped with his finger poised above the red icon. 

“Hey, Barto?”

“Hm?”

“Same time tomorrow?”

Bartolomeo laughed. “Sure, Cabbage.” His stomach clenched in anticipation at the answering flash of Cavendish’s teeth. “Lookin’ forward to it already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The reason I named their cat Durandal is because every time our cat is kneading directly on him or touches him and flexes her claws, my husband insists that he’s being “stabbed”.


	4. Masks (Bellamy/Dellinger)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I think any relationship that could possibly exist between these two would be horribly unhealthy and abusive because Dellinger is awful and has close ties to someone with a lot of power over Bellamy and Bellamy has zero self-worth, so please keep that in mind. This is not an attempt to say otherwise.

Bellamy had to wonder what kind of asshole it was that rented out the ballroom of the city’s most expensive hotel for a night of nothing more than schmoozing and entertainment. Not to mention, one who included at the bottom of the invitation that it was to be a masquerade, formal wear and mask—as well as attendance—not optional.

Except, he knew the answer. It was the exact kind of asshole that was Doflamingo Don Quixote and the entirety of his so-called “family.”

Doflamingo had sent a box to his apartment, with a custom navy suit inside and a full-face black hyena mask decorated with garish golden accents. Bellamy felt stupid wearing it, and thought he looked even stupider. 

But here he was nonetheless. In a room packed nearly to bursting despite its size. Most of the people in attendance were business partners of Doflamingo’s, and since his business ranged from the dubiously legal to highly illegal, it was an interesting mix to say the least.

Bellamy stood at the very fringe, feeling large and uncomfortable in his suit, trying to ignore the itching beneath the edges of his mask. When a waiter passed with a tray of drinks he caught him by the elbow, snagging one of the flutes, draining it, and returning it to the tray before the waiter could so much as open his mouth to make an offer. His eyes widened, and when Bellamy’s narrowed into a glare, he shuffled off.

He’d already been introduced to a few people, shaken hands at Doflamingo’s command, but his employer had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to stay at the party until he came by personally to dismiss him. Bellamy didn’t have much hope that that dismissal would be coming anytime soon. He’d seen Doflamingo strut his way out of the ballroom on Crocodile’s arm a half hour earlier, and if the rumors he’d heard were true, the “business meeting” occurring in one of the hotel’s lavish rooms would have rather more to do with rising cocks than rising stocks. 

Not that he personally cared. He was just bored and not nearly drunk enough, and wanted to be able to leave sooner rather than later. 

“It makes it hard for Doffy to show off his investments when they’re clinging to the wall, you know.”

Bellamy glanced sideways to see Diamante leaned against the wall next to him. He was wearing a traditional harlequin mask, its red and yellow diamond pattern reminding Bellamy how much he wished he’d managed to convince Bartolomeo to be his plus one for this stupid party. At least he would’ve provided some sort of entertaining commentary. 

“Although,” Diamante continued dismissively. “It isn’t as if you look like you belong here, or that you’re anywhere near as striking as most of the people in this room. Honestly, it’s a wonder Doffy bothers with you at all anymore.”

Bellamy just grunted and lifted his shoulders in an apathetic shrug. He knew he looked out of place in the grand ballroom, felt it too, but Doflamingo had asked him to be there, and he wasn’t one to disobey orders. He had a thick enough skin not to care about Diamante’s cheap insults, and enough of a buzz not to worry about the rest.

Scowling at the younger man’s lack of reaction, Diamante turned back to the room with a huff and left Bellamy alone, again. Thank God for small favors.

The entirety of the Don Quixote Family was in attendance at this garish event, even Baby, who was extremely pregnant and was being forced to waddle about the room on her husband’s arm. At least Sai looked as miserable as Bellamy felt—he knew there was certainly no love lost between Doflamingo and Baby’s partner of choice.

He could hear Pica’s uncharacteristically high-pitched voice somewhere amongst the throng, and the over-the-top inflection of Lao G off to his right. The others were appearing and disappearing with all the grace and ease of a family that had been groomed for decades to be the inner council of one of the New World’s richest and most powerful men, and all of the guests seemed to be eating it up.

Bellamy grabbed some sort of too-fancy-for-its-own-good hors-d’oeuvres and had it jammed all the way in his mouth when he heard a voice beside him.

“Are you just a guest or one of ours?”

He looked down to see a young blond man wearing a mask covered in glittering golden scales, with two impressively large horns curling up from its temples. Within the holes set for his eyes burned the wide, bright, somewhat manic gaze of Dellinger, the youngest member of the Don Quixote Family. They had been introduced once, very briefly, but Bellamy didn’t have much of an impression of him. He was wearing a baby blue tuxedo that had been tailored to fit his lithe frame like a second skin, and a pair of spiky white stilettos that only served to bring him barely up to the middle of one of Bellamy’s massive biceps.

Dellinger didn’t wait for him to respond, evidently answering his own question as he perched one hand on his hip and tapped his manicured nails against it. “Has Doffy already shown you off to whoever cares about whatever it is you do?”

Bellamy nodded, making a concerted effort to chew the mass of unidentified seafood he had shoved in his mouth. Dellinger watched him for a moment in silence, head cocked to the side. His eyes followed the bob of Bellamy’s Adam’s apple when he finally swallowed.

“Why? Does he need me?”

“No,” Dellinger chirped, sharp, white teeth snapping together beneath the line of his mask in a grin that was almost unsettling in its perfection. “I just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be dragging you away again.”

“Oh,” Bellamy said dumbly. And then, again, “Why? Do _you_ need me?”

Dellinger let out an airy little giggle, smile sharpening between his painted golden lips. “Need is an awfully loaded word. So, I’ll settle for no. But…” His eyes rose to meet Bellamy’s and he maintained unflinching eye contact as he continued. “I’m sucking somebody’s dick tonight, and I’d like it to be yours.”

Bellamy had enough of a fleeting thought to be thankful that he had gotten the hors-d’oeuvre down, or else it would’ve ended up across Dellinger’s expensive tux in a comically overt spit-take.

_“What?!”_

“Is it…proportional?” Dellinger asked, not fazed in the slightest. His eyes shone as his grin widened even further. “You’re _big_ , and I’m up for a challenge.”

“Is…my…” Bellamy shook his head to clear it, but he was already being swiftly betrayed by his body. “Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin’ kid.”

“I’m legal,” Dellinger answered with a lazy, one-shouldered shrug. “And consenting. What do you say, big boy? Let me at it.” He made a vague, flippant gesture toward the surrounding few feet of empty ballroom. “It isn’t as if you have people lined up to do you a favor like this. I promise I can make it good.”

“I…” Bellamy swallowed down the lump in his throat. Dellinger licked his lips in a needlessly pointed gesture and Bellamy felt his cock twitch. “Uh…”

Dellinger’s eyes rolled and he let out a sharp sigh. “It’s obvious whatever Doffy uses you for doesn’t require any higher mental function.” He stood up on his toes and tapped a finger pointedly against Bellamy’s forehead, nail clacking gratingly against the plastic of his mask. Bellamy was too dumbfounded to do anything but let it happen.

“Listen,” Dellinger continued, settling back down and moving his hands to his hips. “You think about it, and if you decide you want to take me up on the offer, meet me in the coat check in five minutes. If you’re so much as a minute late, I’m dragging the first man that walks by in instead of you, so…” He reached up and patted his palm against Bellamy’s cheek. “Make it quick.”

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered away, the sway of his hips doing nothing to make Bellamy’s decision any easier. 

The first three of five minutes passed without Bellamy moving so much as an inch. He was glued to the spot, more out of shock than any sense of morality, and he played Dellinger’s words over and over again in his head until it was spinning.

_“I’m sucking somebody’s dick tonight, and I’d like it to be yours.”_

Fuck, he was already so hard that it was actually painful. To say it had been a while would be an understatement, and sure, Dellinger was…young, but, as he’d said, old enough. _Just_ old enough. And he was an attractive brat, there was no denying that. Bellamy had been able to see the bulge of his cock through his skintight pants, even, assumedly, mostly soft, and shit, now he was imagining what it would look like swallowed up entirely in his own fist.

If Doflamingo found out…Bellamy would be lucky to make it out alive, but, it was clear that Dellinger had no idea who he actually was behind the mask, and that certainty put Bellamy more at ease than he ever should have been in this situation. Plus, he was bored, and suddenly, aggressively horny, and oh, God, fuck it.

He stormed off in the direction of the coat check, relying on the now immensely beneficial anonymity of the masquerade to get him there without raising any suspicions. With his size and the current ferocity of his movements, it was really all he had going for him.

The attendant was gone, bribed to vacate the premises no doubt, and when Bellamy yanked open the door and stepped inside, he was greeted by a laugh of gleeful delight.

“Oh, _good_. I really wanted it to be you.”

There was no preamble, no attempt at anything even daring to be called a mimicry of romance. No kissing, no fumbling embrace amongst the coats, just Dellinger dropping to his knees and releasing Bellamy’s throbbing erection from its confines.

The moan that he offered at the sight of it was a stroke to Bellamy’s ego, but not quite the stroke he wanted, so he grabbed Dellinger by the horns on his mask and yanked him forward until he gagged.

Bellamy's thighs shook at the tight squeeze of Dellinger's revolting throat and he held him there for a few seconds before releasing him. Dellinger pulled back, coughing harshly. Bellamy expected him to be angry, but when his big, watery eyes flicked upward again, his gaze was absolutely _ravenous_.

Dellinger shoved Bellamy back against the door, uncaring as it rattled dangerously in its frame. Bellamy swore under his breath as his head thunked against the wood, and then again, deeper, rougher, as Dellinger charged forward, taking what he could fit of Bellamy's length into his mouth and wrapping his hand around the base.

It was obvious this wasn't the first time Dellinger had been in this position. He swallowed down Bellamy's cock with equal amount of skill and gusto. Each time he pulled back he licked across the slit, each time he sank back down, a little deeper than before, Bellamy's fingers tightened around his mask, and each time Bellamy bucked his hips into that tight, wet, warmth, Dellinger moaned around him like he was still gobbling foreign delicacies in the ballroom and not sucking dick in a closet.

In a deviously timed maneuver, Dellinger surged all the way forward, nose burying in Bellamy's pubic hair as he darted a hand into the older man's trousers, wrapped his fingers around his balls, and _squeezed_. It was so much at once that it almost hurt, but Bellamy was nothing if not a little masochistic and a low, startled grunt was Dellinger's only warning as thick, hot cum began to fill his throat in heavy spurts.

When Bellamy finally released him, Dellinger spat across the newly shined toes of Bellamy’s shoes. Wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand, he rocked back onto his haunches, grin wide and feral when his hand dropped down again. 

"I think I chose well. Do you think there was anyone else in that room who had enough cock to stuff my throat like that? I have my guess."

Against all odds, Bellamy felt his dick jerk at the insinuation, and when he glanced down he was appalled to find himself still hard. God, how the fuck was he _still_ hard?

Dellinger giggled, lacing his fingers together and steepling them beneath his chin.

"I should've expected such stamina from one of Doffy's…fighters?” he guessed, looking strangely smug when Bellamy nodded in confirmation. “And good thing too, cause I’m not finished with you yet.”

Bellamy froze, halfway through tucking himself back into his pants, gaze tethered unwillingly to the feverish shine of Dellinger's eyes.

“You go when I say you go, alright?"

Bellamy was well trained, knew an order when he heard one, and even Dellinger's taunting titter was enough to bring him to heel.

"You think you can fuck me before anyone catches us in here?" Dellinger's smile was so wide it looked painful. It was sharp, and dangerous, and Bellamy was beginning to feel like he had made a mistake.

"I won't fuck you without lube," Bellamy replied, assuming that that would put an end to Dellinger's little game and let him escape before whatever this was devolved any further. "I'd tear you in half."

The groan that left Dellinger's throat was too soft to be fake. Bellamy watched as his pupils swallowed the thin ring of green. 

"Well then it's a good thing I came prepared."

Before Bellamy could even think to try and argue, Dellinger was squirming out of his too-tight trousers and withdrawing a condom from one of the pockets. When he shuffled to the opposite wall and planted his palms flat against it, Bellamy could see the shine of a plug beneath the thin strip of his thong.

Fuck, he was really going to do this, wasn't he?

Bellamy stepped forward, pulling the thick plug free as his eyes followed the enticing arch of Dellinger's spine. Holding it in one hand, he took three fingers of the other and shoved them deep into Dellinger's stretched out hole, earning a sharp cry, of pain or pleasure he wasn't quite sure.

"You really thought this could prepare you for me?"

He held the plug up toward Dellinger's face, wiggling it in the air before letting it fall to the floor between them and rolling the condom along his length.

"You're gonna regret that."

Before Dellinger could reply, Bellamy was pushing forward, deeper and deeper without stopping until he was balls-deep and Dellinger's voice had become a hoarse sob.

"Yes," he gasped, and then, "Please, Daddy, break me in two."

Bellamy groaned, hips snapping forward, pressing even _further_ , somehow, impossibly, as Dellinger clawed fitfully at the wallpaper. 

If he hadn't already been bound for hell at the end of his life, fucking a nineteen-year-old with a daddy kink in a hotel coat check would be sure to send him that direction.

He didn't pause long enough to give Dellinger time to adjust. When he withdrew to the tip just to slam back in again, Dellinger howled, the sound muffled halfway through by the press of Bellamy's fingers against his tongue.

"Do you want us to get caught?" he growled. The look that Dellinger tossed him over his shoulder suggested that it might not be something he would entirely mind after all.

Every time Bellamy withdrew, Dellinger sucked on the fingers hooked over his teeth, leaving Bellamy swinging wildly from one sensation to the next without any reprieve. He was going to regret all of this the moment he stepped outside the closet, but right now, God, did the brat feel good.

Dellinger pushed Bellamy's fingers out of his mouth with his dexterous tongue and moaned eagerly when the older man ghosted his hand along the column of his throat instead. 

"Come on, harder, Daddy. Do your worst."

Bellamy grunted and pulled all the way out, ignoring the throbbing protest of his cock as he left the tight squeeze of Dellinger's ass. Without warning, he yanked Dellinger around and then hoisted him up so his knees were tight against his ribcage as he unceremoniously dropped him back down onto his dick.

Dellinger yelped at the sudden change, nails finding purchase against Bellamy's jacket as his eyes rolled back in his head. 

"Oh God, yes, right there!" 

His eyelids were heavy when his unfocused gaze met Bellamy's, lips slick with spit and curved into a self-satisfied smirk.

"If I had known you'd fuck me like this I would've gone after you sooner."

Bellamy's brow furrowed and he skimmed his hand back along Dellinger's neck. "Just shut up and take it, will ya?"

Dellinger laughed, infuriatingly amused by Bellamy's attempt at control. "Why don't you make me?" He brought his hand up to rest over Bellamy's and pressed down. "Go on and choke me, Daddy."

"Choke yourself," Bellamy snarled, shaking him off. He took a little too much triumph in the way that Dellinger's eyes widened.

Using one hand to keep Dellinger's hips moving, he brought the other down to tear apart the scrap of fabric that was good for little more than soaking up the pre-cum spilling from his hard cock. Just as Bellamy had imagined, Dellinger’s dick fit easily in his much larger fist, jerking along with his body when Bellamy pushed his thumb against the slit.

Suddenly, Dellinger’s words clicked. "Wait. You said...if you'd known I could fuck you like this..." Bellamy grunted, eyes squeezing shut when Dellinger clenched intentionally around him. 

"Mmhm?" Dellinger’s gaze was hooded, but spitefully smug. “Did you really think I couldn’t tell who you were with the mask on…Bellamy?”

Dellinger reached one hand up to slip his fingers beneath the band of elastic above Bellamy’s ears, letting the mask clatter to the ground beneath them. Bellamy felt unexpectedly vulnerable without it, too exposed, too _real_.

"That mean you’ve looked at me before tonight?"

"Sure, I've looked plenty," Dellinger answered, sounding breathless and wrecked and so close to the edge. "But Doffy's caught me looking and told me you were off limits. Didn't want you getting your dirty hands on any of the Family."

That stung, a little, and Bellamy was sure he would be upset about it later when he had the wherewithal to be.

"So what are you gonna do when he finds out about this?" 

Because at this point, they were far past a quick blowjob and Doflamingo was certainly going to find out, sooner or later.

Shit, he’d really fucked up.

"Mm." Dellinger grinned, looking not at all as frightened by that prospect as Bellamy felt. "I'll just tell him it was my fault and make him promise to let me keep you." He let out a gasping little laugh. "Doffy likes it when we beg, and he _always_ gives me what I want in the end."

That struck a chord of discomfort in Bellamy, and he wondered briefly if this was even worth getting Doflamingo's permission to continue, if that was even something he _wanted_. But then he shifted just slightly to ease the strain on his knees and Dellinger absolutely wailed, making the fickle decision to keep himself quiet by pressing his lips to Bellamy's and oh, fuck, by God did he want it.

Cupping one hand around the back of his neck to keep their mouths together, Bellamy backed Dellinger into the wall again, pounding relentlessly against his prostate until he felt the warm gush of his release against his fingers and Bellamy came hard, stars exploding behind his eyelids as Dellinger yanked him close by his collar and shoved his tongue down his throat.

When their breathing began to come normally again, Bellamy felt Dellinger take his hand, the one still wrapped loosely around his flaccid cock and soiled with cum, and he didn't realize what he was intending to do until it was already too late and it had been wiped clean against some unsuspecting bastard's coat.

Bellamy opened his eyes with the intention of fixing Dellinger with a firm glare, but the sight of him caught his breath in his throat and involuntarily softened his gaze. He looked...good. Skin flushed, eyes still hooded, his lips swollen from the aggressive kisses they'd exchanged. Certainly looked better than Bellamy knew he was. 

"Get out of me, you big, stupid oaf," Dellinger said with a pout that made Bellamy remember how young he was and feel a momentary surge of guilt.

He shuffled backward, slipping out of Dellinger and tying off the condom while the younger man bent to retrieve the discarded plug. With a wink and a theatrical moan, he slid it back in, and then leaned up toward Bellamy to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Do you like knowing I’ll be out there with all those people, still full and thinking about your big cock?”

Bellamy wanted to say no. But that would be a lie. 

“We shouldn’t have done this.”

“No?” Dellinger finished thoroughly reapplying his lipstick and then slipped the ruined remains of his underwear into the pocket where Bellamy had already reluctantly tucked the condom. “I don’t regret it. Doffy picked a masquerade, what did he expect if not a few things meant to be kept hidden? Secret’s ours, Mister Hyena,” Dellinger said cheekily. He leaned up and fitted Bellamy’s mask back over his face before placing a firm, lingering kiss on its painted cheek. “Just make sure nobody looks at your shoes.”

Before Bellamy could try to gain his assurances that it would remain a secret, and a one-time lapse in judgment, Dellinger was gone, slipping out of the closet with a coy wiggle of his fingers. 

When the door closed softly behind him Bellamy swore under his breath, his hands moving to run across his face and finding only the contours of the mask. 

What a stupid night, and a stupid theme, and a stupid mistake. 

He emerged, only to find Doflamingo standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips. Bellamy felt his heart leap to his throat when he saw who he was talking to. Doflamingo looked upset, and when Dellinger just shrugged and flounced away, his gaze shifted and found Bellamy frozen in place. 

“There you are.”

Doflamingo stalked over, his normally wide gait a little more noticeably bow-legged than usual. 

“I had to ask half the Family where you were and most of them didn’t even know you were here tonight. Benefits of a masquerade, I suppose, and being utterly forgettable.”

Doflamingo looked him over, eyes narrowing dangerously beneath his own feathered pink mask as they lingered on his face. Bellamy grunted noncommittally, trying his best to look nonplussed with his pulse thrumming wildly beneath his rumpled collar. 

“Anyway, you’re free to go. Nobody who’s still here has any interest in you.”

Bellamy nodded in acknowledgment, wishing that was true even as the hand buried deep in his pocket confirmed very much the opposite. 

“I’ll be in contact,” Doflamingo said dismissively, but there was something dark in his tone that made Bellamy’s stomach twist nervously. “Sooner, rather than later, I suspect.”

The moment Bellamy stepped outside, he let out a long sigh and slipped the mask from his face. He discarded it absently in the trash with the contents of his pocket on his way to the curb, not giving it so much as a second glance. And there it remained until the bin’s contents were emptied, its smooth black surface marred only by the perfectly preserved mark left behind by a pair of distinctively painted lips.


	5. Cuddling (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s something nicer after yesterday’s chapter. It took a lot of effort not to include ‘Barto being a sweet Italian grandson’ in my tags for what was supposed to be a collection of smut drabbles and has turned into whatever the hell this is becoming.

When the conversation hit its first lull in a considerable while, Bartolomeo took the opportunity to tilt Cavendish’s wrist and look down at his watch. His eyes widened when he saw that it was already well past midnight and he untwined his fingers from Cavendish’s to slap his palms against his knees.

“Well…we should get goin’.”

Gambia checked his phone and then frowned down at it. “It’s way too late to go anywhere now. ‘Sides, Cavendish looks like he’s already half asleep and you have an hour commute back home.”

Cavendish hummed softly, his head still resting against Bartolomeo’s shoulder. His foggy, half-lidded gaze seemed to confirm Gambia’s assessment. 

“Stay here tonight,” Gambia’s grandma piped up. “I won’t lose two of my only three grandsons because I let them drive themselves home this late at night.”

Cavendish perked up a little bit at earning honorary grandson status despite the lack of a ring on his finger, but Bartolomeo shook his head. 

“We’ll be fine, _nonna_ , I promise.”

“Don’t argue with me. You’re staying here and that’s that, _patatino_.” 

“Where?” Barto asked, the sleepy, pleading expression Cavendish was casting up at him already breaking down his resistance. “We s’posed to share the couch?”

“We haven’t touched your room since you moved out,” Gambia suggested. 

“Shit, that’s…” Bartolomeo sighed heavily. “Fine. Whatever.”

That settled, they all began to extricate themselves from the living room furniture, Sophia heading for the kitchen with their empty glasses as Gambia started upstairs. 

“See you in the mornin’.”

Barto hooked an arm around Cavendish’s waist to help him up and then waved toward Gambia. “G’night.”

They stopped in the kitchen doorway, Bartolomeo throwing his arm around his grandmother’s shoulders in a one-armed hug as she affectionately patted his side. 

“You remember where the extra blankets are?”

He nodded and bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek as she returned the gesture. “‘Night, _nonna_. Thanks for lettin’ us crash tonight.”

“You’re welcome. Sleep well.” She pinched his cheek and smiled when Cavendish laughed softly at the way Bartolomeo’s nose crinkled. 

After trudging upstairs and swinging open the door to what had once been Bartolomeo’s bedroom, they stood in the doorway for a moment. Cavendish hummed in absent contemplation as he looked around. 

“Where’s the full-sized poster of me when I was nineteen?”

Bartolomeo snorted and nudged him into the room so he could close the door. “I wasn’t _that_ obsessed with ya, Cabbage. Besides, that…that doesn’t exist…does it? Cav, does it?”

Cavendish offered a coy shrug and Bartolomeo huffed indignantly. 

“Do you even fit in this bed?”

“Uh…” Bartolomeo looked down toward the twin bed in the corner of the room. “Not really. I was twenty-one when I moved out of here and I was already too big for it then. And that was before I started wrestlin’ so I was…smaller, if not much shorter.”

“Well, it’s just one night.” Cavendish started stripping down to his underwear and Bartolomeo flipped off the light before doing the same. When he heard Cavendish settle on the edge of the bed, he spoke toward him. 

“Big spoon or little?”

“Little,” Cavendish answered promptly, curling as small as he could manage as Bartolomeo crawled under the sheets beside him and fit himself as neatly as possible against his back. 

They lay in silence for a while, trying and failing to pretend that they were anywhere close to comfortable sandwiched together in the too-small bed. Tucking his chin above Cavendish’s head to avoid getting a face full of his hair, Bartolomeo stroked his thumb in an idle arc across Cavendish’s breastbone. Despite the soothing repetition of the gesture and its intention to lull both of them to sleep, Cavendish kept shifting restlessly and every time he squirmed, it only increased Bartolomeo’s own discomfort. 

When it happened again, Barto began to think that he was doing it on purpose. Moving his hand down to curl around Cavendish’s hip, he pushed his own hips forward, grinding his steadily hardening erection into the cleft of Cavendish’s ass. 

If the soft gasp that Cavendish let out didn’t confirm that he was very deliberately pressing back against Bartolomeo’s dick, his next words did.

“Don’t stop. It feels good.”

Bartolomeo muffled his answering groan in the crook of Cavendish’s neck. When he repeated the motion again, Cavendish reached for his wrist, dragging his hand down further until it was pressed directly to the growing bulge of his cock and bucking into the friction of his palm. 

“Cav, we—”

Cavendish craned his head around, effectively silencing Bartolomeo with the press of his lips. The angle was too awkward to deepen the kiss as much as he would have liked, but Cavendish still managed to earn a hitched breath when he flicked his tongue across Bartolomeo’s teeth and Barto’s cock swelled noticeably as his hips bucked forward again. 

“We can’t do this,” he mumbled when Cavendish finally pulled away. Even so, he continued to grind steadily into the tempting curve of Cavendish’s ass, too caught up in the constant buzz of pleasure to entertain his own hesitation. 

“But I’m horny,” Cavendish replied rather unhelpfully, guiding Bartolomeo’s hand in a tight pass along his erection.

Bartolomeo scoffed. “Clearly. But what do ya want me to do about it?”

Cavendish looked back at Bartolomeo over his shoulder, eyes dark and hazy. “I want you to fuck me about it. You rolled your sleeves up to help Sophia with the dishes after dinner and I’ve been thinking about having you in my ass ever since.”

“W-what?” Barto stammered. “ _No_ , Cav. That’s what I’m tryin’ to say. Gambia’s _right_ on the other side of this wall, and _nonna_ ’s down the hall. I’m not fuckin’ you in my childhood bed, ya freak.”

“Why not?” Cavendish whined, his lips turning down in a pout.

“I just told ya why not,” Bartolomeo hissed. “‘Sides, ya can’t stay quiet to save your life, babe.”

“I can if you make me,” Cavendish countered. The look in his eyes was so dark and the promise of his words so alluring that Bartolomeo’s resolve crumbled in an instant. 

“ _Fuck_. I’m gonna regret this.”

He adjusted a little, pressing tighter against Cavendish’s back and using his hand to free Cavendish’s dick from his underwear before starting to jerk him off in rhythm to the grind of his hips. 

After only a few short strokes Cavendish shook his head. “I want you inside me.”

“Cavendish…” Barto tucked his face deeper into Cavendish’s shoulder before swearing in defeat. “Shit, alright, I need it too. Stay here and keep touchin’ yourself, baby.”

He clambered off of the bed to reach a hand blindly under it as Cavendish rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow to watch him, his fingers maintaining a lazy rhythm. 

“Do I get to see your teenage sex toy collection?”

“Unfortunately,” Bartolomeo grumbled, finally catching the corner of the dusty shoebox and dragging it out onto the floor. He popped up the top and squinted at the half-empty bottle of lube inside before deeming it still usable and tossing it up toward Cavendish. His boyfriend craned his neck to try and peek at the rest of the box’s contents, but Bartolomeo shut it before he could, after grabbing the unopened box of condoms. 

“Shit, these expired like three years ago. Ya got one in your wallet?”

Cavendish shrugged and made a vague gesture toward the crumpled pile of their combined clothes. “Probably. Do we need one?”

Bartolomeo looked up from digging through Cavendish’s pockets, his expression incredulous. “I’m not gonna make ya sit on the toilet in my grandma’s bathroom and wait for my cum to stop drippin’ out of your ass.”

Cavendish bit back a laugh as Barto found what he was looking for and approached the bed again. “Alright. Fair point. I appreciate it.”

Bartolomeo rolled his eyes and waved his hand impatiently.

“Face the wall again.”

Cavendish kicked free of his boxers before complying. Bartolomeo joined him, slicking up his fingers and earning a loud moan the moment he slipped the first past Cavendish’s rim. 

“ _Christ_ , Cav!” he whispered harshly, working his free arm up underneath Cavendish’s head so his forearm was up in front of his face. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry,” Cavendish answered sheepishly, pushing back on the digit to try and earn a little bit of movement. “Feels really good.”

When Bartolomeo added a second finger, Cavendish bit down on his forearm, muffling the deep sound of pleasure that tried to escape his throat at the sensation. The sting of his teeth made Bartolomeo’s cock throb and he swore softly into Cavendish’s hair as he increased the pace of his fingers. 

By the time he was adequately prepped they were both panting harshly, moans muffled by the tangle of their tongues as Cavendish tilted his head back to sloppily kiss his partner. 

“Come on, Barto, come on,” he urged in a hushed whisper, grinding back insistently as Bartolomeo fumbled around with the condom. 

Bartolomeo groaned deep into the curve of Cavendish’s neck, scooting down on the bed and hitching Cavendish’s left leg back up over his hip as he pushed up into him and began to roll his hips in a steady rhythm. 

“Goddamn, ya feel good.”

Cavendish didn’t respond, moaning loud enough that even the press of his teeth in Bartolomeo’s muscle wasn’t enough to muffle it. Barto moved immediately, clamping his hand down over Cavendish’s mouth and biting down hard on his shoulder as he held back a low grunt of his own. 

“Quiet, Cav, _quiet_.” 

Cavendish nodded dumbly, his mind fogging pleasantly as his lungs began to burn with the effort of breathing around the heavy pressure of Bartolomeo’s hand. 

They found a good pace, Cavendish tilting his hips back every time Bartolomeo pulled away and arching into his fist every time he pushed back in. It didn’t escape Barto’s realization just how often he had been in this bed before, fingers wrapped around his own cock as he imagined fucking Cavendish with a little more aggression than they could currently afford. Being _actually_ buried in his ass where so many of his teenage fantasies had taken place was a huge turn on, but in their current position, Bartolomeo had to keep his thrusts shallow and it didn’t take long to realize that it wouldn’t be enough to make him come. 

Carefully, he stilled his movement and removed his hand from Cavendish’s mouth. Cavendish sucked air greedily back into his lungs, eyes blown wide with desire as he looked curiously back over his shoulder at Bartolomeo. 

“On your stomach for me, baby.”

Cavendish rolled over, canting his hips upward, and Bartolomeo pressed heavily against his back, knees spreading apart his thighs as he slid back inside him and started moving again. 

“Fuck, you feel really tight like this.” Barto dropped his forehead between Cavendish’s shoulder blades and held a hand against the back of Cavendish’s head to keep his face down in the pillows. “Tap out if ya can’t breath.”

Cavendish nodded in acknowledgement. Pressed as tightly into the mattress as he was, his cock rubbed between his stomach and the already rumpled sheets with every shift of Bartolomeo’s hips, the friction steady but not quite enough to provide any sort of relief. He squirmed impatiently, trying to adjust his angle beneath Bartolomeo and earning a weak swat to his arm for the effort.

“Stop that, don’t be greedy. I’m boutta come and then I’ll suck you off. If I hit your prostate we both know you’ll wake the neighbors.”

Cavendish groaned into the pillow in frustration, but stilled nonetheless. After a few more strong thrusts, Bartolomeo’s movement stuttered, his breath rushing out to fan across Cavendish’s spine as he pressed impossibly deep and began to pulse inside of him. 

“Fuck, shit, _fuck_.” 

Bartolomeo stayed on top of Cavendish for a few long moments, heavy and still, trying desperately to catch his breath, but when Cavendish tapped a couple fingers against his hip, he rolled off with some effort. Cavendish was scrambling up the instant his weight lessened, crawling onto his chest as Bartolomeo flopped down onto his back and began tying off the condom. Pressing his hands to the wall above Bartolomeo’s head, he nudged his red, throbbing erection toward Bartolomeo’s panting mouth and then bit back a desperate sound as he opened willingly and took him down to the base.

He didn’t quite manage to hold back the louder cry that followed as Barto swirled his tongue and when the ridges of Bartolomeo’s brow quirked upward in a pointed gesture, Cavendish took his hands from the wall and pressed them both over his own mouth. 

Seemingly satisfied, Barto raised a hand to urge Cavendish deeper into his mouth, two fingers slipping back into Cavendish’s loose and lube-slick hole and curling in a motion so familiar it was nearly unthinking. 

When Cavendish came a moment later it was almost soundless. His head tipped back, chest heaving, legs trembling, but not even the white-knuckled grip of his hand against his jaw could fully muffle the sound that tore from his throat. As soon as Bartolomeo let him slip free from his lips, Cavendish dropped his hands from his face, gasping frantically for breath.

Bartolomeo stroked his hands soothingly along Cavendish’s quivering thighs, keeping him upright until he had managed to regain enough control to maneuver himself into the space between Barto and the wall. 

“Worth it?”

Cavendish nodded, slinging his leg over Barto's hip and resting his head on his chest. “At least this bed makes cuddling easy.”

Bartolomeo was halfway to pressing a kiss to Cavendish’s forehead and he pulled back abruptly to snort in disbelief. 

“We _were_ cuddling, Cabbage. But that wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Well, that wasn’t comfortable,” Cavendish argued. “I couldn’t get to sleep all smashed together like that.”

Bartolomeo gestured violently toward his partner, sprawled almost fully over his large frame. “The hell do ya call this then?!”

Cavendish shrugged and closed his eyes to avoid Bartolomeo’s glare. “ _This_ is cuddling. _This_ is nice.”

“God, you’re such a brat,” Bartolomeo grumbled. When he saw Cavendish’s lips twitch in amusement, he shoved him toward the wall and turned petulantly onto his side to face the room.

“Fine, but this time _I_ get to be the little spoon.”


	6. Face-Sitting (Franky/Robin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Robin!

“There was a time today that I didn’t remember you.”

Robin was perched on one of Franky’s boxy forearms, held high enough that their foreheads pressed together, with the steady turn of Kyros’ waterwheel at her back.

“But, I didn’t even, remember that I couldn’t remember you. You were just…gone. You, _us_ , all of it. If Usopp hadn’t—”

Robin shushed him before he could continue, scratching her nails along the stubble of his scalp in a soothing gesture. 

“But he did,” she said softly. “So, tell me what you do remember.”

“I remember you have the prettiest smile in all the Blues combined,” Franky started, haltingly. When another wave of tears tumbled from his lashes Robin pressed his face against her chest and held him as he continued. 

“I remember the first time you kissed me, on our way to Sabaody. And, the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about history.”

He pulled back a little, eyes drifting from her face, and then he nuzzled back against her breasts with a faint smile. “I definitely remember these.” Robin laughed and Franky brought his free hand around to toy with the short skirt of her dress. “Remember that Kin’emon’s got good taste in fashion too. Seriously, Robin. Haven’t had a lot of time to do much thinking about it, but, you look _super_ sexy in this dress.”

“Mmm.” Robin brought her fingers to Franky’s bulky wrist, coaxing out his smaller hand and then drawing it up the length of her leg. Her gaze was fond, but coy. “Do you remember how to make me feel good?”

Franky’s head bobbed, his one good eye dark and intense as she shifted and let the dress ride up high on her thighs. 

“Show me?”

Franky slowly brought his hands to the band of her panties, sliding downward until they were hooked around one ankle and then letting out a soft exhale at the sight of the glistening curls between her legs. Robin shivered. 

They both shifted, helping each other to get Robin situated as Franky hooked her thighs up over the round curve of his shoulders and hefted his forearm higher up. 

“I’ve missed doing this,” Franky mused, one brown and one glowing red eye fixated on the wide spread of her legs. 

“Less talking more doing then,” Robin answered teasingly, bracing against the waterwheel with one set of arms as she conjured another to draw Franky’s head beneath her skirt. 

He licked his lips, close enough that she felt just the barest brush of the wet appendage against her folds before it was flattening to lick a long stripe from her entrance to her clit. Franky mumbled something unintelligible and the vibration of his lips had Robin gasping and clenching all of her fists for traction. 

Franky buried his face deeper, the cool metal of his nose pressing mercilessly into Robin’s clit as he swept his tongue fully inside of her, tracing absent patterns along her slick, warm walls, and earning a quiet moan for his effort. 

After a few seconds he pulled back again, pressing wet, sticky kisses across Robin’s quivering thighs until his lips were poised over her clit. He breathed across it, teasingly, then chuckled low in his throat when Robin bucked up and forced him into an unintentional kiss. Parting his lips, Franky sucked on it gently, tongue flicking out intermittently to keep his lover sated with a barrage of sensations. 

She was thrashing after a few short seconds, moans carrying over the sound of the breeze and the gently turning water, drowned out only by the steady rhythm of Luffy’s snores. Franky pulled back again to give her a moment of reprieve. 

“Am I remembering correctly?” he asked, peeking above Robin’s rumpled skirt to admire the flush of her cheeks. 

“It would appear so,” Robin answered breathlessly. A hand emerged from her thigh with a mouth on its palm and Franky kissed it with a light laugh before it disappeared in a flurry of petals. 

Ducking back down again, Franky licked softly across her labia, up and down one side before switching to the other and then dipping back to her core and thrusting his tongue in a series of short, teasing strokes. 

Robin arched into every motion, desperate for the feeling of his mouth when she’d been deprived of it for what felt like far too long. With the events of the past day and a ship that housed a particularly rambunctious crew, their opportunities for true privacy were few and far between, and she was grateful for even the briefest moment alone with her lover. 

Gripping tightly to the back of Franky’s skull, she smothered him between her thighs, making escape impossible as she ground her clit into the unyielding metal of his nose and forced his tongue as deep inside of her as it could reach. 

She held him there, a moan caught in her throat as she trembled beneath the onslaught, but they both jumped apart when Franky’s head was suddenly covered in a veritable mane of blue hair, Robin's fingers tangling into it for purchase as she nearly slipped from his grip. 

“Sorry,” Franky said sheepishly, pressing a heavy thumb to his nose in a few short sequences until Robin decided that the braids of the day before were suitable enough and yanking him back firmly against her pulsing center. 

Popping free one of his much smaller hands, he brought it to circle Robin’s clit as he licked back across her folds once more and she shuddered in his grasp, coating the points of his chin in a surge of fluid as she came with a sharp cry of his name. 

Lapping up as much of the moisture as he could manage before Robin grew oversensitive, Franky only pulled away when Robin’s fingers drew him backward. Bending forward, she kissed him, tasting the warm tang of her release on his tongue as he swept it over hers and along the inside of her cheek. 

They parted, forehead to forehead as Robin trembled through the aftershocks, kissing softly. 

“I remembered something else,” Franky murmured, easing Robin’s boneless frame back down to slump against his chest and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“What’s that?”

He smiled, as wide and bright as ever. 

“I remembered that I love you.”

Robin giggled softly into the back of her hand and offered Franky a much more subdued smile as he leaned in for another kiss. 

“I don’t think you ever forgot that.”


	7. Double Penetration + Orgasm Delay/Denial (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

“Cav?”

He was so far gone that the word wasn’t anything less than a wholly pathetic whine. Cavendish looked at him from beneath hooded lids. 

“Yes, Bartolomeo?”

Just the sound of his name had him frantically closing his fist around his cock and Cavendish let out a moan. God, he was so _easy_.

“Please,” Bartolomeo whimpered. He was still sitting tight on his knees, polite and restrained as Cavendish had ordered, but Cavendish could see tears beginning to well in his eyes and the shaking of his fingers as they brushed carefully along the purpling tip of his erection. “Please, Cavendish, _please_.”

“Please what?” He slowly, _slowly_ slid out the dildo, nearly all the way, before pushing it back in with a theatrical gasp and a wet squelch. Bartolomeo looked absolutely _wrecked_.

“Lemme fuck you,” Barto babbled, helpless and desperate. “Please, Cav, baby, please lemme inside ya.” A few tears tumbled down across his cheeks and he canted his gaze away in embarrassment. “It _hurts_.”

Cavendish shifted as Bartolomeo’s voice petered out into another whine. He moved to sit so their knees were touching, his toes curled against the base of the toy to maintain its pleasant vibration.

Bartolomeo whimpered at even that slight touch and he let out a little sigh of contentment when Cavendish gently cupped his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Cavendish carded his fingers back through Bartolomeo’s hair and the younger man practically purred. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to be strong,” Barto mumbled, his head falling to rest on Cavendish’s shoulder.

“Oh. You are strong.” Cavendish ran his fingers along Bartolomeo’s muscular arms, across his pecs and down to his abs, jumping at the contact. “You’re so strong. But, it’s okay to be weak.” He lifted Bartolomeo’s chin with his fingertips, forcing him to meet his gaze. “If you’re weak for me.”

Bartolomeo made a low humming sound that rumbled through his chest and vibrated against the soft press of Cavendish’s lips.

“Now, what was it you wanted?”

“Wanna fill you up,” Barto murmured into another kiss. He eagerly chased the line of spit that kept them tethered when Cavendish pulled back and only stopped when the older man pressed a warning hand to his chest.

“Alright,” Cavendish conceded, but the breathy hitch of his voice gave away just how much he wanted that too. “Be a good boy and get the cock ring first.”

Bartolomeo’s brow furrowed and Cavendish clicked his tongue before he could even think to argue. “ _Now_ , Bartolomeo.”

He went, chastened, and Cavendish began to comfortably settle himself amongst the pillows as Bartolomeo took a moment to compose himself. A bit of the tension ebbed from his posture as he fitted himself with the toy, but when he turned back, his gaze was immediately fixed to the scene before him. He watched Cavendish raptly as he began to move the dildo again, stroking himself back to full hardness once the ring was snugly in place.

“Are you ready?” Barto asked, eyes tethered to the loose stretch of Cavendish’s well-prepared hole. 

Cavendish hummed. “I am, but you’re not. You were thinking about arguing with me, so you’re going to wait a little more and just watch.”

Bartolomeo’s mouth opened in protest and then snapped immediately shut. “‘M sorry, baby,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to. I just want you to let me come. Just wanna be inside ya so bad.”

“I know you do,” Cavendish remarked mildly. He pressed the dildo intentionally against his prostate, gasping as the strong vibration sent sparks of pleasure down his spine. “B-but you need to learn to behave.”

He was expecting Bartolomeo’s jaw to set, but it seemed his chastisement had put an end to Barto’s bratty streak.

“Yes, sir.”

Bartolomeo returned to his original position, ass firmly set against his heels and fingers gripping tightly to his knees. His eyes followed the steady thrusting of the dildo, flicking up with every other stroke to watch Cavendish’s expressions. Neglected and already edged nearly to a point of pain, his cock jutted up between his thighs, twitching every time Cavendish made a sound and deepening to a color that was almost alarming. His eyes were already glazing over again as he fought back the urge to beg when Cavendish finally addressed him.

“Bartolomeo, stretch me out and fuck me.”

He was there immediately, looming over Cavendish’s sprawled form as he began to push in beside the still vibrating dildo.

Almost instantly, Cavendish came. He would have been a little embarrassed if he’d had the wherewithal to be, but as it was, all he could feel was the _exquisite_ stretch as Bartolomeo’s cock filled him up. Shuddering and offering a garbled cry of his boyfriend’s name, he painted both of their chests with cum, and that was enough for Bartolomeo.

Eyes rolling back, stimulated by the sudden squeeze of Cavendish’s walls and the steady vibration of the dildo, his body heaved its way unsteadily through a dry orgasm, balls pulled tight against the cock ring preventing any meaningful reprieve.

Cavendish flailed downward to momentarily stop the vibrating and for a few minutes they stayed where they were, Cavendish slumped bonelessly against the pillows as Bartolomeo held himself up over him on trembling arms. A soft laugh parted Cavendish’s lips and he pressed a kiss to the inside of Barto’s wrist as his head lolled sideways.

“Good thing I insisted on the cock ring.”

Bartolomeo grunted and took a few more seconds before replying. “Sorry I wouldn’t have been able to please ya without it.”

Cavendish shifted, gaze sweeping across Bartolomeo’s expression to try and gauge whether he was looking for affirmation or another form of denial. 

“You still have the chance to prove yourself,” he answered, satisfied by the resulting flutter of Bartolomeo’s lashes. 

Barto nodded resolutely, sucking a few more ragged breaths in through his parted lips before slowly beginning to move. 

The smooth, lube-slick silicone of the dildo rubbed against Bartolomeo’s frenulum with just the right amount of friction, his cock squeezed on the other side by the grip of Cavendish’s walls, even tighter than usual as they stretched to accommodate the girth of the dildo beside Barto’s already thick cock. 

“‘S good,” Bartolomeo slurred, hips snapping forward and tearing a rough groan from his chest. “We shoulda done this a lot sooner.”

“Well, we had to work up to it,” Cavendish remarked with a slight frown. “I don’t think you’d be saying that if it was _your_ ass currently taking two dicks.”

Bartolomeo grunted and then looked down toward his boyfriend with hazy, half-lidded eyes. “Wanna test that?”

Cavendish swore under his breath, dick twitching at the insinuation as Barto began to move a little quicker. 

“It is good though,” Cavendish added in agreement, the words melting into a moan as Bartolomeo slotted one hand against the back of his knee and pressed it back until it was tight against the side of his head. The position only punctuated the wide spread of his hole and he fumbled between them for a second until he managed to set the dildo back to a low vibration. 

Bartolomeo swore at the additional stimulation, moving deeper with each stroke, chasing a high he’d been denied for what felt like ages now. He wanted to come, but he also wanted to make Cavendish feel good, so he was determined to hold off until Cavendish had come again, and probably not so much as a second later. 

“You can—” Cavendish keened when Bartolomeo’s thrusting bumped the dildo against his prostate, and the rest of his sentence became a series of gasping commands. “Faster. _Harder_.”

The grip of Bartolomeo’s fingers around his thigh tightened, almost certainly bruising as he put all of his strength into every thrust. He yanked Cavendish into a sharp arch, forcing his head into the pillows to keep it from slamming against the headboard as their bed rocked steadily into the wall. 

“F-fuck!” Cavendish’s hands fisted in the sheets, head tossing fitfully as his vision began to blur. “So…so _full_.”

Bartolomeo dropped his free hand to wrap around the base of the dildo, moving it just off rhythm with the snapping of his hips to keep Cavendish’s prostate constantly stimulated. If the wail that Cavendish let out was any indication, he was close, and Bartolomeo watched as his toes curled when he wrapped a hand around his cock. 

“Shit, _shit_ , Barto, I’m— _ah_ — _ngh_.”

The moment that the first streak of cum splattered across Cavendish’s chest, Bartolomeo was on the verge of tears. 

“Please, fuck, Cavendish, _please lemme come_.”

Cavendish gave him a vague nod, watching through barely opened eyes as Bartolomeo all but clawed at the ring, getting it just barely off of his cock before he was coming with a broken sob of relief. 

Feeling particularly benevolent, and entirely too fucked out to care, Cavendish let Bartolomeo fall on top of him, face burying against his neck as he continued to tremble with the aftershocks of his particularly powerful orgasm. 

When it became difficult to breathe beneath Bartolomeo’s superior weight, Cavendish gently pushed at him and he rolled over easily enough, slinging one arm over his face as Cavendish pulled the dildo free with a slight wince and set it aside. 

As Barto silently recovered, Cavendish arched up a little bit, leaving room to press his hand to the small of his back as he groaned softly. 

“What’s wrong?” Bartolomeo asked, voice still a little too slurred to sound appropriately concerned. He moved his arm to sweep his gaze in an arc across his partner’s body, lingering on the bruises already starting to form from the press of his fingers and the cum painted across the back of his pale thighs. 

“Nothing,” Cavendish answered, but his features screwed up again as he shifted. “I think we should do this again sooner rather than later, but, I'm already a little sore and I just feel so... _loose_.”

“Mmm. ‘S whatcha get for askin' to take two monster hogs at once, Cabbage.” Bartolomeo reached out to give the dildo a proverbial pat on the back as Cavendish snorted. “We really did a number on ya.”

“And…you ruined it. Next time, you’re taking it, _and_ , I’m putting your dick in the cage.”

A low laugh rumbled through Bartolomeo’s chest and he cracked one eye back open to give Cavendish a sly look. “Sounds terrible.”

“Oh, it will be.” Cavendish leaned over and gave Bartolomeo a long, slow kiss that punctuated the dark assurance of his words. “I promise.”


	8. Seduction (Lucci/Kaku)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s pretty tame, just mostly banter with a brief handjob. And, related, it’s fairly clear through this, but my headcanon dynamic for these two is that Lucci desperately wants to be in control, but Kaku is such a brat that he makes constantly sure that even if he does do something that Lucci tells him to, Lucci understands that he did it fully of his own volition. Also, the reason Kaku always wears those weird high-collared jackets is cause Lucci's a biter, that's practically canon.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

They all froze, turning to meet the dark stare of Rob Lucci. He was leaned against the doorway to their left, eyes narrowed and fixed firmly on Kaku.

It was Jabra who answered. 

“Kid got a little ‘seduction training’ from Kalifa.” He clapped a heavy hand down on Kaku’s shoulder and the smaller man shrugged him off. “Gonna let him loose at the local bar, see who he can reel in.”

“That’s pointless and absurd,” Lucci replied. “Our mission in Water Seven isn’t about seduction, it’s about gathering information.”

“You’re saying you don’t think if our boy here got the Mayor in bed with him he wouldn’t be willing to spill a few secrets between the sheets?”

Lucci ignored the question. “If you’re just looking to get drunk, go on your own. Kaku has real work to do here.”

Jabra and Kalifa exchanged a look, but neither of them was willing to argue with Lucci when he seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, so they shrugged apologetically in answer to Kaku’s frown and made their swift exit without him. 

Heaving a sigh, Kaku plastered on a faint smile and strolled over to stand in front of Lucci. “What is it then, boss? More sparring? I think I’ve mastered Rokushiki, but if you think there’s still room for improvement, I suppose that’s fine.”

Lucci just eyed him for a moment in silence before stepping back into the darkness of the room behind him. 

“Come sit with me.”

Frowning slightly, Kaku followed, turning on one of the lamps beside the couch as he settled onto it beside the older man. 

“Hope everything’s peachy keen,” Kaku said with a nervous laugh, scratching at the back of his neck as he tried to avoid the intensity of Lucci’s stare. “Can’t think of anything in particular I’ve screwed up lately.”

Lucci just grunted softly, eyes roaming in a slow arc across the smaller man’s frame. Usually, Kaku was hidden beneath the brim of a cap and the high collar of his preferred attire, but, presumably in preparation for their seduction test, Jabra and Kalifa had encouraged him into a suit. It was well-made, cut close against the slender lines of Kaku’s body and quite capable of not only drawing but keeping attention. 

“Do you think that’s a skill you need?” Lucci asked, finally. When Kaku’s frown deepened, his gaze returned to his face. “Seduction?”

“Oh, uh, gee, well,” Kaku laughed again, still avoiding eye contact. “Probably not. Jabra and Kalifa were just tryin’ to have a bit of fun and dragged me along for the ride.”

Lucci hummed a noncommittal response. 

“Kalifa’s known for having a particular talent in that skill,” Lucci continued, once Kaku had begun to squirm. “Did you find her training…effective?”

“Uh…yes, and no.” Kaku met Lucci’s eyes for the first time, and held his gaze. “She’s not my type.”

Although outwardly composed, Lucci felt his pulse skip briefly out of rhythm. Kaku was a skilled assassin, there was no denying that, but he had never proven himself to be particularly bold, nor quite this forward.

“Should I have let you go?” Lucci asked. “Do you feel you need practice seducing people?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Kaku answered, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Do you?”

Seizing a sudden rush of confidence, Kaku leaned forward, head tilting just slightly and watching with satisfaction as Lucci unthinkingly mirrored the movement. “I could still practice here, couldn’t I?”

Lucci’s lips parted in a grin, sharp and dangerous. “Try me.”

Kaku should have paused to wonder why the hell he was playing along with this. Rob Lucci was Cipher Pol’s most dangerous asset, a cold-blooded killer since he was barely more than a child. But, he was also Kaku’s mentor, of sorts, and without a doubt one of the most attractive men Kaku had ever met. He’d be lying if he said he’d never entertained the possibility of pursuing something serious with the older man, or at least let his thoughts stray that direction in a few moments of private indulgence. 

So, instead, he climbed onto Lucci’s lap, one hand sliding up his chest to toy with the knot on his tie. “Is this why you sent Jabra and Kalifa away?” Kaku murmured, looking up at the taller man from beneath his lashes. “So you could be alone with me?”

“What if it was?” Lucci replied impassively, hands pressed back against the couch to support his weight and making no attempt to move or touch the man currently crawling on top of him. 

“I’d say you’re a bad kitty.”

Lucci snorted, his brow furrowing. “And I’d say you’re nothing more than a brat.”

“Maybe you like them bratty.” Kaku began working his tie loose, watching as Lucci’s eyes followed its descent to the floor and then shifted to watch Kaku’s fingers pop open the top two buttons of his shirt.

“I can assure you,” Lucci drawled, unperturbed. “I don’t.”

He shifted, trapping Kaku between the arm of the couch and his own larger body in one swift motion. He heard Kaku swallow a gasp, his eyes widening, and Lucci leaned down to nip at the edge of his jaw. 

“I like my men compliant. And not nearly as mouthy as you are.”

Kaku’s eyes narrowed, hearing and accepting the challenge in Lucci’s words. He wrapped his long legs around Lucci’s waist and flipped their positions, a surge of annoyance rising in his chest when Lucci just smirked, his expression making it clear that Kaku was only able to even briefly get the upper hand because Lucci had allowed it. 

“I should take back what I said about Kalifa’s skills, if this is all she had to teach you. You’re pathetic.”

Kaku petulantly rocked his hips forward, hoping to feel some evidence of even a little success, and only serving to prove to Lucci that he’d been getting hard since the first time they’d made eye contact. 

Lucci made a low purring sound, his dark eyes hooded and his expression smug. “I should have been your teacher, if I can affect you so easily with just a few words.”

“Then teach me,” Kaku countered, not bothering to try to hide his labored breathing or the way his hips bucked into Lucci’s in a vain search for friction. “I thought the great Rob Lucci was supposed to be more than just talk, but here you are, yammerin’ on as if you’ve got nothing better to do with your time.”

“If you’re the only alternative, then I certainly don’t.”

But Lucci wasn’t one to back down from a fight, so he wrestled Kaku back beneath him and pressed his knee between the younger man’s thighs, earning a keen that brought a rosy flush to Kaku’s cheeks. 

“Low blow,” Kaku muttered, earning a dark chuckle against his throat. 

Lucci’s hand rose to grip his jaw, nails digging harshly into the soft, flushed skin of Kaku’s cheek as his eyes darkened. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, you bastard,” Kaku spat, his anger muddling quickly as Lucci moved his knee and Kaku humped instinctively against it. “You’ve known that since the first time you saw me.”

“You’re an easy man to read,” Lucci answered, tongue sweeping across the harsh red lines that rose on Kaku’s skin. It felt rough, even in his human form, and Kaku shivered beneath him. 

Yanking Lucci down by his collar, Kaku kissed him. He took a certain amount of pride in the surprised grunt uttered against his lips before he was shoving his tongue past them, licking into Lucci’s mouth with all the finesse of…well, a wild animal. 

“You call this seduction?” Lucci asked, growling against the yellowed bruises fading almost imperceptibly on Kaku’s pale throat and pressing the heel of his palm mercilessly against the bulge in Kaku’s slacks. “It’s sloppy.”

“Well, golly, you’ve got your hand on my dick, don’t you, darlin’?” Kaku countered breathlessly. “Must be gettin’ somewhere.”

Lucci tore through the fabric of Kaku’s pants, ignoring his cry of dismay and gripping the younger man’s erection firmly in his fist. 

“You talk too much.”

“Make me shut up then, kitten.”

Kaku’s grin was wide, and incredibly short-lasting as Lucci spit into his palm and started up a rhythm so rough that Kaku was jerking beneath him after just a few strokes.

“G- _gosh_ , Lucci, you don’t h— _ah_ —” His words cut off in a groan, one leg hooking up over Lucci’s shoulder as the other dropped to the floor to give traction to the desperate bucking of his hips. 

“What, are you going to come already?” Lucci taunted, the even, uncaring tone of his voice offset by how little gold was still visible in his eyes. 

“Are you going to make me?”

Kaku cried out sharply as Lucci twisted his wrist, practiced hand flying over the sensitive head of his cock as he leaked pre-cum onto the tattered remains of his pants. With no one around to hear him, Kaku moaned, long and loud, Lucci’s name falling from his lips as he came. Once the last bit of cum flowed weakly across Lucci’s slowly moving fist, he stilled, withdrawing his hand and sitting back to look down at Kaku. 

They stared at each other for a few long moments before Kaku, predictably, broke the silence. 

“Why are we still keeping this a secret, Lu?”

Lucci’s expression hardened and he absently wiped his fingers clean on Kaku’s ruined trousers. 

“Because we can’t go into Water Seven with any existing connections,” Lucci explained, for what felt like the hundredth time, and as always, Kaku still looked hurt by that answer. “It could raise suspicions.”

“Well…” Kaku said slowly, toying with the edge of Lucci’s sleeve. “What if you meet a handsome young stranger in a bar and he happens to seduce you?”

“He’ll have to be very good at seduction to pull that off.”

That wasn’t as dismissive as Lucci had been every time before, so Kaku took it as a victory, and dropped his hands to Lucci’s belt. 

“Then it looks like I need more practice.”


	9. Shower (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

Stepping out from under the showerhead, Bartolomeo retrieved a bar of soap, idly humming the second verse of Soul King’s newest single as he scrubbed it to a lather between his palms. The echo across the tiled walls and the steady rhythm of the water muffled the sound of the shower door sliding open, and Barto only became aware that he had company when Cavendish stepped directly into the stream of water and let out a yelp of alarm.

“Jesus Christ, Cabbage!” Bartolomeo’s voice cracked a little, succumbing to the panic that surged through him as he whirled around and nearly sent himself sprawling across the wet tile. “A little warnin’ next time?!”

“I—it’s freezing!” Cavendish protested, looking utterly betrayed as he shivered in a sad, damp heap against the wall.

“Yeah. I just finished workin’ out. It’s called a _cool down_ for a reason. _Fuck_ , you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cavendish mumbled. Barto reached out to adjust the temperature of the water and gestured for Cavendish to unstick himself from his defensive position. “I just wanted to join you. I thought it could be nice. We haven’t seen a whole lot of each other lately.”

“C’mon then.” Bartolomeo gestured again, more firmly. “Let me warm ya up.”

When Cavendish stepped forward, Bartolomeo moved to meet him, tilting him toward the steadily warming water as he used his broad frame to block the cold air from the side of the shower that had yet to fill with steam. Hunching over, he wrapped his arms loosely from Cavendish’s shoulders to waist and dropped his chin to the top of his head when he leaned back into him. 

“Better?”

“Mmhm.”

They stayed that way for a while, the silence of the room broken only by the whirring of the fan and the steady drone of the water.

As Cavendish began to warm, his thoughts turned, no longer preoccupied by the chill of his skin, and growing steadily distracted by the press of the body against his back.

Bartolomeo had resumed his humming, softer than before, his throat vibrating with the notes where it met the back of Cavendish’s head. His thumbs stroked in a steady, idle rhythm over Cavendish’s hip bones, sending the falling drops of water skittering in a stream across his lower belly. Bartolomeo's cock was soft, but still hung with a pleasant weight against the small of Cavendish’s back and the swell of his ass. It was a warm and intimate embrace, and Cavendish was not unaffected. 

His chest reddened, tinted by the heat of the water and the growing flush that spread across it. When his next exhale escaped, stuttered and shallow, Bartolomeo’s eyes fluttered back open. 

“You alright, Cav?”

Cavendish spent a moment trying and failing to regain his composure before turning around to face Bartolomeo. His eyes were wide and dark beneath the damp weight of his bangs, his cock half-hard and pressing insistently between them. 

“Touch me.”

Barto cocked the ridge of his brow, warm amusement shining in his gaze. 

“First, ya barge into and nearly give me a heart attack durin’ _my_ shower. Then, ya get cold and need to be held, interruptin’ _my_ shower. Now, you’re gettin’ horny. _In my shower_.” He trailed the pad of his thumb across Cavendish’s bottom lip, pupils blowing wide when Cavendish parted them to flick his tongue against it. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?”

“Yes,” Cavendish confirmed, petulantly avoiding Bartolomeo’s stare. “We’ve both been really busy this week, which is _fine_ , but, I’ve hardly seen you, let alone been able to do anything else with you, and,” Bartolomeo dropped a hand, stroking the back of one crooked finger lightly across Cavendish’s dick and watching it swell as his rambling grew increasingly breathless. “And I’m…I want… _Barto…_ ” When Bartolomeo just kept staring down at him, finger barely grazing against his skin, he adjusted his tactic. “Touch me…please?”

It was a sweet, polite little addition to the demand, nothing like the desperate, broken pleas that Cavendish coaxed out of Bartolomeo on a regular basis. Still, it achieved its desired result.

Bartolomeo shifted his hand, wrapping it loosely around Cavendish’s cock as he made a slow pass from base to tip.

“Sure.”

Cavendish sighed at the contact, nuzzling into Bartolomeo’s chest and pressing distracted kisses across his wet skin as Bartolomeo maintained a slow, steady rhythm. 

“You aren’t going straight to work, are you?” Cavendish asked quietly. “You have some time?”

He nodded, looking fondly down at his boyfriend as he shuddered against him. “For you? Yeah.”

Cavendish stood up on his toes to kiss Bartolomeo, his lips parting in a little gasp when he inadvertently bumped up tighter against him and brushed the head of his cock across Barto’s abs. Attempting to withdraw, he only managed to slide it back against Bartolomeo’s growing erection, cheeks burning as he let out a moan. 

Laughing quietly, Bartolomeo backed him into the tiled wall, close enough to the water to still feel its warming effects. Planting his palms on either side of Cavendish’s head, he rolled his hips, grinding his dick against Cavendish’s and earning another low moan for the effort. 

“Haven’t fucked in the shower in a while,” Bartolomeo mused, his hips bucking out of rhythm when he rubbed his cock across Cavendish’s balls and Cavendish grabbed his ass with both hands. 

“We only keep lube in the upstairs shower,” Cavendish replied. “You aren’t allowed to fuck me here.”

“This still counts.”

They both fell silent, kissing sloppily between gasps and groans as they continued to move against each other. When Cavendish tried to lift onto his toes to get a little better friction out of their height difference, Bartolomeo just hefted him up into his arms. Hips more evenly aligned by the new position, Cavendish replaced his hands with his heels, keeping Bartolomeo tight against him as he rocked in a smooth arc. 

“God, your cock feels good, baby.” Bartolomeo looked down, hazy eyes watching as their erections jerked with every slide, adding to the slickness that was smearing across Cavendish’s stomach. “I like how it looks next to mine.”

Cavendish followed his gaze and found himself similarly enraptured by the easy glide of skin against skin, hot and growing increasingly flushed as they continued to grind together. Tilted just slightly as he was by the angle of Bartolomeo’s supporting arms, Bartolomeo’s shaft dragged over his balls on every stroke, and he was growing increasingly unable to think. 

“I think I’m gonna come,” he murmured mindlessly. “Just like this.”

“Yeah?” Bartolomeo tightened his hold, grinding just a little bit harder at Cavendish’s admission. “Good. Me too. Ya want me to use my hand, finish us off?”

Cavendish shook his head, a little desperately. “No, not yet. I just want to feel you. Want to come just… _just_ like this. Just from your cock.”

Bartolomeo nodded in acceptance, shifting one arm up so he could tilt Cavendish’s chin back up and urge him into a kiss. His tongue traced patterns along the soft skin of Cavendish’s cheeks, over the blunt edges of his teeth, across his bottom lip as he pulled away and drew out a low, whimpering moan. 

Changing the angle of his hips, Bartolomeo aimed his cock in a sloppy arc across Cavendish’s frenulum, veering a little as he tried to combat the slippery efforts of soap and water and pre-cum alike, but getting the desired effect after a few strokes nonetheless. 

Going a little cross-eyed as his eyelashes fluttered, Cavendish arched into Bartolomeo’s hold, cum spilling in thick streams over the head of Bartolomeo’s cock just a brief second before it was releasing its own load into the space between them. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ sexy,” Bartolomeo murmured deliriously, kissing across Cavendish’s open, panting mouth. “Comin’ on my cock like that, _fuck_.” He let his head fall down to rest against Cavendish’s and took a few seconds to just breathe before speaking up again, his voice raspy in a way that managed to catch Cavendish’s still muddled attention. 

“Didn’t really get clean like I was tryin’ to,” he began. “How stupid would it be to move up to our shower and give it another go?”

Cavendish looked up to meet the dark gleam of his eyes as he replied. “Very stupid. We’d be tracking water all over the stairs, probably traumatizing Durandal in the process…”

Bartolomeo nodded, watching as Cavendish stumbled forward and brought a hand to the faucet. When the sound of the water cut off, he glanced back over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. “So, you coming?”

Barto grinned and caught him in a quick embrace, kissing through the strands of wet hair plastered to his flushed cheek before sliding open the door and delivering an encouraging pat to Cavendish’s ass. 

“After you.”


	10. Corset (Sabo/Koala)

“Koala, what the hell are you do—” Sabo’s harsh whisper was cut off in a gasp, his stupid goddamn _bonnet_ crumpling against the stone wall behind him when his head fell back against it. 

He heard Koala offer a muffled laugh from beneath the extensive layers of his skirt and he fisted his hands in the ruffled fabric to keep from grabbing her head and making himself even more conspicuous than he was already, even in the shadows of the estate's sprawling gardens. 

Her hands ghosted up along his thighs, sliding down his plain black briefs—the only remotely practical element of this entire stupid disguise. The reason he was the one posing as whatever foreign princess Karasu was currently keeping from this event in the first place was because of Koala’s insistence that she couldn’t fight properly in a dress that went below her knees, and Sabo was beginning to suspect that there was a reason why there just so happened to be enough room beneath his skirts to fit a woman of a certain size. Not that Inazuma would ever admit that Koala had requested certain design alterations, nor would Koala ever admit to requesting them.

“Seriously, Ko—” His breath hitched as she kissed the spot just below where the dress was cinched around his waist, and he felt a brief rush of adrenaline. 

Worst of all, the dress included a corset. Everyone—excluding Dragon who had just waved a hand in a vague noncommittal gesture when Sabo had protested—had insisted on its inclusion, citing proper disguise first and foremost, lest Sabo’s non-constricted figure suggest he wasn’t who he was claiming to be. He’d been aware of it all night, somewhere at the back of his mind, but now that his breathing was growing labored, it squeezed against his ribs when they tried to expand, effectively cutting off his attempts to fill his lungs. 

_“Koala.”_ His voice wheezed out from between his lips, and he heard her quietly shush him from beneath his skirts. 

Her fingers brushed back over that spot, running along the bottom edge of the corset, and Sabo was suddenly sure that _this_ had been exactly what she had intended. 

His cock twitched when another breath was harshly aborted. He felt dizzy, already, and his knees buckled when Koala wrapped her fingers around him and pumped him steadily until he was hard and aching and so incredibly out of breath. 

Trying to focus, Sabo sucked just a little bit of air in through his lips before releasing it again in a controlled breath that minimized the squeeze of the corset. He could still feel it, tight across his ribs and pulling in at his waist, just enough pressure to keep him on the right side of the line between pleasure and panic. 

Gathering pre-cum from the head and sliding it along his shaft, Koala eased the glide of her hand, her movements a little slicker every time she returned to squeeze where it was most sensitive, earning a choked off groan and another few drops of lubrication. 

“You sound pretty when you’re out of breath, Sabo-kun,” she said quietly, barely audible beneath too many layers of fabric.

All Sabo could offer in response was a short, sharp gasp.

His lungs were beginning to burn, and every twist of Koala’s wrist made his controlled breathing harder to maintain. With the edges of his vision going fuzzy and his mind filling increasingly with static, all that he could focus on was the familiar slide of her palm, slick and addictive and all-consuming. 

Koala saw him slump a little further toward her and she shifted the grip of her fingers, trailing her nails lightly along his length and earning a breathless keen from above her. 

“Are you close, Sabo-kun?”

Was he? His head felt swimmy, too heavy for his neck to support as he rested his cheek against the cool stone of the wall behind him. The corset was choking him, throttling every attempt to gain a little clarity and elevating every sensation to a point of overwhelming intensity. 

“Yes,” he gasped out, rigid boning and taut fabric rubbing against his chest with every weak exhalation. _“Yes.”_

Koala squeezed around the head of his cock, thumb rubbing along the underside and then releasing the pressure as it pulsed in her fist, coating the inside of his elaborate skirts in strings of cum. Her fingers wandered higher again as he wheezed and coughed above her, feeling the tight press of his abdomen against the corset. 

After surreptitiously peeking out to make sure she could return to his side without being noticed, Koala slipped out from beneath Sabo’s dress and looked him over. 

He looked just as pretty as she thought he would, cheeks red, jaw slack, blond curls pressed to his sweat-soaked forehead as his chest heaved with the difficult effort of breathing. 

She moved a hand to his back, sliding her fingertips along the lacing of the corset as she looked up toward Sabo with a questioning expression. Before she could even think to loosen it, he was shaking his head, fervently, and Koala giggled at the gesture. 

“Naughty, Sabo-kun,” she teased, patting a hand against his cheek and feeling it warm beneath her palm. “Come on, we have a mission to accomplish here. Once we’re done, you can show me just how much you appreciate me.” Her gaze returned to the slender curve of his waist and she tapped a finger against it as she smirked. “In proper disguise, of course.”

When Koala turned, Sabo followed, and the carnage that ensued was reckless even by Sabo’s standards, returning the two revolutionaries back to base in record time. They offered a rather harried debriefing and then fell together again in their quarters, frantic, desperate, and, at least on Sabo's part, particularly breathless.


	11. Rimming (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

“What’d you pay for these?”

Bartolomeo ran his thumb along the embellished edge, and Cavendish glanced back over his shoulder to confirm what pair he was currently wearing.

“Forty dollars, before tax.”

_“Forty?”_ Barto repeated incredulously. His voice was muffled, tongue working through the thin fabric without bothering to sweep it aside. “Forty dollars for like two inches of fabric?”

His fingers dug into the flesh of Cavendish’s ass, spreading his hole wider as his tongue pressed the thong mercilessly past Cavendish’s rim and forced the satiny strip across his walls in a slick drag.

“Two inches of very high-quality fabric,” Cavendish corrected, his voice a little strained. He arched up, swearing softly when the shift let Bartolomeo’s tongue in deeper on its next pass.

Bartolomeo hummed idly and pressed a kiss to Cavendish’s thigh as he pulled back. His fingers returned to the edge of the panties, now soaked through with spit, and he slid them down to Cavendish’s thighs. “I’m gonna tear ‘em.”

“Barto, don’t—”

The sound of ripping fabric interrupted Cavendish’s plea. He moaned when Bartolomeo spread his legs, his panties tearing cleanly when the stretch pulled them past their limit.

“Goddammit, Bartolomeo.” Cavendish looked back over his shoulder again to meet Barto’s wholly unsympathetic gaze. “I buy expensive shit like that for _you_ and this is how you treat it?”

Bartolomeo nipped at the swell of Cavendish’s ass before resting his chin on it to return his half-hearted glare. 

“Don’t lie, Cavendish. You like how pretty ya look in ‘expensive shit like that’ just as much as I do. If you’re really upset about it I’ll buy ya a new pair.”

Bartolomeo slapped his palm against Cavendish’s ass, pleased by the resulting jiggle, and then pulled apart his cheeks again as he seemingly remembered the task at hand. “They were gettin’ in my way.”

That said, he dove back in, making obscene slurping sounds as a copious amount of excess saliva slid down his chin to pool above Cavendish’s balls. 

Cavendish hid the dark flush of his cheeks in the pillow, his hand clutching a fistful of the downy material. 

When Bartolomeo settled in deeper, tongue pushing past the taut ring of muscle, his septum ring pressed against Cavendish’s rim and the older man jolted at the unexpected chill. Before he could manage to squirm away from the sensation, Bartolomeo had his hands around his waist, hauling him back to meet the wide sweep of his tongue. 

“B-Barto, n— _oh_ —n-nose ring. It’s cold.”

“Oh.” Bartolomeo relented, a little, biting just hard enough into the flesh of Cavendish’s ass for him to feel the sting. “Sorry.” He lifted his hands to cover his nose and mouth and then exhaled a few times into the space he’d created. “There. Nice and warm for ya.”

His nose bumped up against Cavendish’s perineum as he shimmied down to suck on his balls and the gold ring was, somewhat unexpectedly, a much more comfortable temperature. Cavendish sagged back into the mattress in relief. 

A few seconds later Bartolomeo returned to Cavendish’s already sloppily wet hole, taking a moment to admire the sight of it before licking his lips and spitting directly between the stretch of his thumbs. Cavendish was embarrassed by his answering keen. 

“You’re disgusting,” he huffed, but it sounded entirely too much like a moan to contain any real vitriol.

“You love it,” Barto answered, pressing incongruously sweet kisses along the cleft of Cavendish’s ass before falling back to circle his rim. 

“You can’t prove that.”

“No?” Taking that as the challenge it was, Bartolomeo upped his pace, flattening his tongue against Cavendish’s rim before dipping into his hole and then flicking it back up at the other side, over and over as he ran it up and down to Cavendish’s increasingly incoherent noises of pleasure. 

“That’s right,” Barto rumbled smugly, pushing his thumb against Cavendish’s prostate from his perineum with familiar precision and earning a sharp buck of Cavendish’s hips. “Just keep on pushin’ your ass back onto my tongue like that. Why don’tcha just admit it, honey? Tell me ya love it when I spit and suck on your pretty little asshole.”

“I—I love it,” Cavendish whimpered, caving with entirely too much ease. “Love you, Barto.”

“Mmhm.” 

With Bartolomeo’s tongue back inside of him, the affirmative hum vibrated across his rim and the sensation was too much with the friction of the sheets and the simultaneous press of Bartolomeo’s thumb. Cavendish came with a low moan, face buried deep in the pillow and hole clenching beneath Bartolomeo’s mouth. 

Bartolomeo kept licking, his tongue making long, slow stripes all the way from Cavendish’s twitching hole to the scraps of his ruined panties, cleaning up the mix of his own excess spit and what little of Cavendish’s cum had streaked across his thighs. 

He was jostled aside as Cavendish weakly rolled onto his back, and when he gestured for Bartolomeo to move up, Barto shook his head. Cavendish’s brow furrowed and Bartolomeo grinned, teeth bared above the slick shine of his chin. 

“I’m nowhere near done with ya, Cav.” Bartolomeo leaned in to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss beside the feeble twitch of Cavendish’s cock, eyes dark as Cavendish started threading his fingers through his hair to pull him back between his thighs. “Just lemme know when you’re ready for round two.”


	12. Wax Play (Marco/Ace)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: obviously, none of us are blessed with Marco's regenerative abilities, so, please be safer attempting wax play than these two are at points in what you're about to read. Communication is key in sex regardless of kink, but particularly when there's an element of pain/potential injury involved, so talking to and taking cues from your partner(s) is the way to go.

“Oi!”

Ace approached the sick bay and, finding the door open, hooked a hand around the doorframe before swinging into the room and plopping down onto the desk he knew was just inside. 

“Marc—oh!”

His extra momentum knocked an elbow into the candle Marco had lit to illuminate the papers strewn across his desk, and both men watched as it wobbled, unable to react. Tipping dangerously, the candle spilled the wax accumulated beneath its wick onto Marco’s arm, much to Ace’s horror. 

Marco hissed at the sudden, unexpected sensation, but in the second before his flames flared to life to ease the burn, his eyes met Ace’s. Ace was expecting to see surprise in them, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw just a thin line of blue at the edges of Marco’s wide, dark pupils. It was a look he had seen many times before, albeit, not in the sick bay—not _usually_ anyway—and not after spilling hot wax across Marco’s bare skin. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, Ace rendered momentarily speechless, and eventually, it was Marco who spoke. 

“Was there something you needed, Ace? I have more paperwork to do tonight before I come to bed and then I need to catch up on some sleep.”

The rest remained unspoken: not tonight. 

So Ace left him alone to his work and returned to their shared quarters, easing himself to sleep with fantasies of Marco. Naked. In their bed. _Dripping_ with wax.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Ace got to work. 

Slowly, one by one, he began accumulating candles. All different shapes, sizes, colors, made from different materials that he kept approximately organized by melting point. Each time he got a new one, he would see Marco’s eyes zero in on it the first time he came back to their quarters, and he could tell that Marco knew what they were for. But he didn’t say anything, and Ace didn’t press.

Thatch took notice of his new collection, and when Ace admitted the reason for his interest, he was directed toward Izo, who, despite never having used wax as Ace was intending, had enough practice with it to give Ace a few pointers. 

He felt prepared, and so excited that it felt like his nerves were thrumming at a constant low hum beneath his skin, making him even more prone to fits of flame than usual. He was sure Marco had noticed, and he seemed vaguely amused by the change. 

Then, one night, with the Moby Dick docked by a peaceful, friendly village and most of their brothers on shore, Marco’s amusement turned to something more. 

He was sitting across from Ace as he devoured his third plate from dinner, hooded eyes dark and intense as they watched Ace from above the rim of his mug. Ace noticed his stare, eventually, once his plate was clean, and he cocked an eyebrow, mouth too full of food to offer a proper question.

“Tonight,” Marco replied, and then lapsed back into silence as Ace gawked at him. 

Within seconds, Ace was clambering onto the table, hands in Marco’s hair as he shoved his tongue and half-chewed food down his throat in equal measure. From there, he moved to his lap, ignoring the few other people in the room, and he felt a thrill race down his spine when it became apparent that Marco had been thinking about _this_ for a while. Probably since Ace’s second plate, judging by the way Marco bucked enthusiastically into the friction of Ace’s rapidly hardening cock. 

A pointedly cleared throat got them out of the room, Ace dragging Marco across the deck and hauling him into their quarters before he was pressed into the door, Marco’s mouth on his. 

“You sure, Mar?”

Marco nodded, nibbling at Ace’s neck, and he let out a groan before squirming out from under the larger man and moving to stand beside the collection he’d amassed. 

“Take off your clothes and lay on your…back?”

Ace scratched absently at the back of his neck, distracted by the variety of opportunities before him. When he heard Marco chuckle, he frowned at him over his shoulder.

Marco settled as requested, looking quite calm despite the even more pronounced droop of his eyelids and the telling jut of his hard cock. 

“Any particular color?”

“Mm…orange.”

Ace glanced back over his shoulder again, a red flush rising to his freckled cheeks. “Sap.”

Marco just shrugged, eyes following closely to Ace’s movements as he retrieved a thin orange candle and crawled up to sit beside him on the bed. 

“I uh…I’ve never done this before,” Ace began, blush deepening as Marco just stared at him. “Talked to Izo about it some though so I think I know what I’m doin’, I just…” His eyes wandered down along Marco’s long frame, lingering on his erection as his breath released in a sigh. “I wanna see you _covered_ in this shit, Mar. ‘S all I’ve been able to think about.”

“Go ahead then,” Marco said placidly. He reached out to wrap his fingers around Ace’s wrist, guiding the hand with the candle to hover over his chest. “You can’t hurt me, Ace.”

Ace nodded, his resolve steeling noticeably in the set of his jaw as he snapped and brought the resulting flame to the tip of the wick. 

When the first drop fell to Marco’s skin, he groaned audibly, shaking his head to dispel the worry that flickered in Ace’s gaze. 

“It doesn’t hurt, Ace, it’s…it’s _good_.”

Emboldened by the admission, Ace brought the candle just a little bit lower, earning an even deeper, more drawn-out sound from his normally quiet lover as he began to drip the orange wax in a flame pattern over the cross-section of Marco’s tattoo. 

“Now you look even…hotter.”

Ace’s eyebrows waggled and Marco snorted, tucking his chin to his chest to look down at the design. 

“Blue,” Marco answered.

A blue flame was added to the orange, and when Ace leaned down to press his lips to Marco’s, he lost track of the tilt of his hand, spilling blue wax across one of Marco’s nipples and drawing a startled cry from his throat. 

“Shit, sorry.” Ace was scrambling up in an instant, and his throat went dry as he looked down at Marco’s heaving chest, glowing beneath the flare of his flames, and the wax drying over the raised peak of his nipple. 

“Don’t stop,” Marco rasped. “More.” He tilted his head toward the wall. “Red. Stomach.”

Ace was quick to obey, engulfing his whole hand in flame in his eagerness to melt the new candle. It splattered as it fell, spraying drops across the bottom of Marco’s tattoo and the dip of his hips. He arched into the spill, wax running through the dips and swells of his toned abdominal muscles before cooling instantly as blue flame flickered along to follow it. 

“Purple.”

With careful precision, Ace hovered the candle above Marco’s skin, tipping it and releasing a few drops at a time, slowly watching as it filled the dip of Marco’s navel.

It burned there more than anywhere else, hot as it collected and pooled, a little bit dribbling out to dry on his lower belly as he breathed through the sensation. 

Marco had been burned before, many times over, even before he had willingly invited the wielder of the _mera mera no mi_ into his bed, and it had been a long time since he had felt anything akin to real pain, his own powers ensuring that his wounds were healed before they had a chance to trigger those receptors. 

This was no different, at least in that it caused no pain. But he felt the _heat_ of it nonetheless, near to scalding in a room already growing uncomfortably warm as Ace’s excitement increased. And it was intoxicating. 

“Closer.”

Ace’s eyes flicked up, and when he received a nod from Marco he followed the order, bringing the candle closer to Marco’s skin. He could feel the heat of Ace’s flame as it danced along the wick, and then the sharp sensation of the wax as it fell to paint his skin. 

Ace had stopped trying to make any particular patterns, happy enough to just watch the way the colors mingled over Marco’s deep tan, cooling in thin layers of alternating shades. It was mesmerizing to see the way they shifted and changed, Marco’s muscles rippling beneath each new drop or wave as it fell, arching closer in the brief second before his flames eased the sting.

“Can…Mar, can I…?”

Marco opened his eyes to find Ace staring intently at his cock, its head flushed as deep a red as the wax swaying gently beneath the wick of the candle that Ace was holding. It twitched, and Ace licked his lips as his gaze briefly returned to Marco’s face. 

“Yes.”

They both held their breath as Ace tilted the candle, the movement of his wrist excruciatingly slow as anticipation built in the space between them. 

A single drop fell, and then a stream, spilling down the length of Marco’s shaft in a thin, wavering rivulet and making his cock jump in response. The strangled sound that made its way from Marco’s chest was like nothing they had ever heard before, and Ace looked almost on the verge of tears as he swept his gaze up along the splayed-out canvas of Marco’s body.

“You look _so good_ like this, Marco. You’re so beautiful.”

And of course, Ace was blushing, even though Marco was the one being praised, and the dark flush of his cheeks only made the ache in Marco’s chest swell. 

“More.”

An emerald green came next, following the vein along the underside of his cock as Ace meticulously dripped it, scant inches above his straining, twitching erection. A second wave kept the first from cooling immediately, lengthening its trail until it trickled across his balls and earned a broken, breathy groan. 

“Do you wanna come, Mar?”

Marco couldn’t tell if Ace wanted the answer to be yes or no, because one meant an end to their experiment, for the night, but was also something Ace craved, now more than ever as Marco writhed in a growing mess of hard, cooling wax. As it was, Marco didn’t much care, because he knew what he wanted his answer to be.

“Yes.”

More wax fell, one tantalizing drop at a time further tinting his balls, spilling sloppily as they began to draw tighter against his body. 

Ace’s free hand moved to his cock, not quite stroking, his heated fingertips brushing curiously over the layers of hard wax covering the soft skin. Ace was burning hot enough that even that light touch was enough to heat the wax again with every pass, sending flares of sensation through Marco in a continual, addictive wave until he arched off of the mattress with a cry of Ace’s name, white spraying to join the veritable rainbow of his abdomen before dribbling in a few more weak pulses over Ace’s wandering fingers. 

“Holy shit, Marco.”

Ace’s tone was quiet, reverent, and when he looked up toward Marco with a hopelessly desperate expression, his lover gave him a weak nod.

Scrambling up the length of his body, Ace plastered himself to Marco’s front, hips already beginning to rut eagerly against his thigh before he’d managed to connect their lips. They kissed sloppily, a little lazy on Marco’s part and too frantic on Ace’s. 

“Mar… _Marco_ …Fuck.”

It took very little effort before Ace was trembling in the loose grip of his arms, breath coming out in pants against the curve of his neck as his body flickered intermittently in an involuntary blaze. 

Everywhere they touched, blue rose to meet orange, mingling with the fluttering shadows that danced across the room. The air was thick and warm, the space they shared and the rapid tandem of their hearts both full, with light, and heat, and flame.


	13. Chest Worship + Sthenolagnia (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

When he didn’t find Bartolomeo in the kitchen, Cavendish started off toward their home gym, and wasn’t disappointed. 

Bartolomeo was facing the doorway, a heavy set of free weights in his hands as he counted softly under his breath. He looked up when Cavendish leaned against the doorframe.

“Mornin’, babe.”

Cavendish watched the steady strain of his biceps, the way his pecs pressed together with every other motion. His skin was shiny with sweat, glistening in the low lighting of the room. Cavendish could see a still dark bruise on the side of his neck where his hair had been pulled back. He looked…incredible.

Bartolomeo slowed the movements of his arms, the ridge of his brow quirking upward. 

“Cabbage?”

Cavendish blinked a few times, refocusing on Bartolomeo’s curious expression. He took a long drink of his coffee.

“Mm?”

“Did ya…need somethin’? I mean, no complaints from me if you wanna hang out there, you’re adorable when you’re still sleepy, ya just looked like you had somethin’ to say.”

Cavendish took another sip, and when Bartolomeo’s broad shoulders flexed, he felt a warmth in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the coffee settling there. “You’re very attractive, Bartolomeo.”

Barto flushed. “Oh? Okay. I’m…so are you, Cavendish.”

“Yes,” Cavendish answered mildly. “But I’m not the one sweaty and shirtless and showing off my muscles.”

“I’m—I’m just,” Bartolomeo stammered. “I’m not—I’m just workin’ out!” he managed to get out, setting the weights down and crossing his arms self-consciously over his chest. His eyes carefully tracked Cavendish’s movement as he stepped into the room and came to stand between his spread thighs.

“And I’m enjoying it.”

This close together, with Bartolomeo seated on a low bench, Barto’s head was at level with Cavendish’s stomach, and it was a short trip down for his eyes to catch the slight tent in his boxer briefs.

“Shit, Cav,” Bartolomeo breathed softly. With his face still tilted down, his exhale fanned warm and soft across Cavendish’s steadily hardening cock, making it twitch and swell. Bartolomeo felt his own shorts tighten in response.

“Is it bad that a part of me wanted you working out here at home for selfish reasons?” Cavendish asked softly. He finished his coffee and then set aside his mug to card his fingers through Bartolomeo’s sloppily tied hair. 

“Maybe,” Barto answered. He let the gentle pull of Cavendish’s fingers tilt him forward. When he placed a kiss against the bulge presented to him, Cavendish tightened his grip.

“I wasn’t quite done with what I had planned,” Bartolomeo half-heartedly chastised. His eyes flicked up, dark beneath the fan of his lashes. “But I can switch up my cardio plans if you’re willing to help out.”

Bartolomeo sucked a wet patch into the front of Cavendish’s underwear. Cavendish nodded above him.

“More than happy to.”

Bartolomeo hummed softly. “Not sure whatcha had in mind, but I like ya here. Can I just suck you for a bit, baby?”

Cavendish nodded again, breath stuttering out in a shaky exhalation as Bartolomeo continued to place kisses across his covered erection. When he finally raised a hand to work it free, Cavendish gasped at the contact with the cool air of the room, and then swore at the sudden shift to the wet warmth of Bartolomeo’s mouth.

He sucked lightly for a few seconds, cheeks hollowing, tongue swiping along the slit to taste the pre-cum beading there. When he pulled back with a wet pop, Cavendish shuddered.

“You set the pace, Cav,” Bartolomeo said quietly. He spanned one hand across Cavendish’s ass, the other settling between his thighs as Cavendish pressed forward into his open mouth.

He started slow, panting softly each time Bartolomeo’s nose bumped up against his pelvis. When Barto pressed two fingers against his perineum his pants turned to moans, hips working faster, deeper. After enjoying the pace for a moment, he pressed his hand lightly to Bartolomeo’s forehead, easing him back. 

“I can’t come like this,” Cavendish murmured, huffing out a laugh at the sad, pleading look Barto sent up at him. “Got other plans for you.”

Bartolomeo released him with a lewd, slurping sound, resting his cheek against Cavendish’s hip so he could still press open-mouthed kisses across his cock while he spoke.

“Do we need to move upstairs?”

Cavendish nodded, using his fingers to work Bartolomeo’s bun loose and then idly sliding the tie free and up to rest along his wrist. 

“Yeah.”

“Mmkay.” Bartolomeo sucked the tip back between his lips, lapping contentedly as Cavendish moaned and tugged on his hair. “Lemme shower first and I’ll meetcha in there?”

There was a trail of spit hanging between Bartolomeo’s bottom lip and the flushed tip of Cavendish’s cock, and Cavendish wished that he could just plunge back into that warm, tight throat and fuck it to completion. His eyes trailed down, captivated by the sheen of sweat across Bartolomeo’s heaving chest. He shook his head. 

“Don’t shower.”

“Ya sure, babe?” Bartolomeo nudged his nose toward his own shoulder. “Probably don’t smell great.”

“You do,” Cavendish countered, and he meant it. The wrestler’s general lack of body hair meant there were fewer places for truly unpleasant odors to get trapped, and there was nothing gross about the faint musk of sweat and physical exertion that clung to his skin.

“If ya say so.”

Cavendish led the way to the bedroom, getting waylaid once on the stairs when Bartolomeo decided he’d rather kiss the life out of him than keep walking. A few whispered promises got him moving again and when the door was shut, Cavendish looked up at him.

“Lay down for me. Flat on your back.”

Bartolomeo obeyed, watching curiously but silently as Cavendish crawled on top of him and began working his shorts and underwear down over his hips. He left them to hang around Bartolomeo’s ankles, stripping himself bare and then scrambling up to sit on Bartolomeo’s ribcage. If the sudden expansion of his pupils was any indication, Bartolomeo caught on quickly.

“Yeah? Ya wanna try it?”

Cavendish nodded, gaze tethered to Bartolomeo’s muscular pectorals and the slick shine of sweat in the scant gap between them.

“Go—go ahead.” He looked eager and it only heightened the excitement that Cavendish was feeling.

Cavendish settled, sliding his cock between the thick planes of muscle and groaning lowly at the easy slide across Bartolomeo’s damp skin. 

“Can you use your hands?” he asked breathlessly. Bartolomeo nodded, pressing his palms to either side of his chest to tighten the channel between his pecs. Cavendish gasped out a broken moan.

“Fuck.”

“Is it good, baby?” Bartolomeo murmured. His dark eyes were wide, trained up at Cavendish as his spine arched and he pressed his hands to the headboard.

“So good.” Cavendish rolled his hips, grinding into the tight, slick space. “You feel so fucking good, Bartolomeo. God, you’re so hot.”

Bartolomeo lolled out his tongue, voice muffled around it when he replied. “Yeah?”

Cavendish watched as the tip of his cock appeared back at the top of Bartolomeo’s pecs, pushing against the soft expanse of his tongue before disappearing back between the thick, tattooed muscle.

“Shit, _yeah_.”

With his tongue extended, spit began to pool at the edges of Bartolomeo’s lips, trailing out across his jaw every time that Cavendish withdrew and Bartolomeo flicked the tip of his tongue up to catch the drops of pre-cum beading up with each stroke. It fell steadily to slicken the expanse of his chest, growing warm and flushed as Cavendish rubbed against it. 

It didn’t feel like much, really. Bartolomeo’s chest had never been particularly sensitive, but there was an undeniable thrill in seeing just how quickly Cavendish was unraveling. The little sounds he was making with every thrust alone were enough to have Barto’s cock hard and twitching.

Withdrawing his tongue, he swallowed and then looked back up toward Cavendish as his lips turned down in a pout. 

“Can ya give me a free hand?”

Cavendish’s eyes darkened. “Why?”

“So I can jack off to you fuckin’ my chest, Cav, why else?”

Cavendish moaned, putting a little more weight on his knees so he was tilted forward and got just a bit more friction against his dick on each downward stroke. He steadied himself, keeping one hand planted firmly against the headboard for balance, centering it above Bartolomeo’s head before moving the other down and taking the place of Bartolomeo’s right hand. 

After spitting into his palm, Barto opened his mouth again, able to make wider, more concentrated licks across the tip with Cavendish’s new angle and drawing a high, gasping cry out of him. 

“I don’t think I can last much longer, Barto.”

“Fine by me.”

Bringing his other hand down, Cavendish pressed it across Bartolomeo’s pecs, creating a tighter channel near the top that rubbed perfectly against the most sensitive parts of his cock and brought him almost immediately to the edge. 

“Oh, _fuck_. Barto, cl— _mmm_ , ah…” He couldn’t quite get out what he was trying to say, gaze shifting up toward Bartolomeo’s face to offer him a desperate, imploring look. 

Hand working faster over his own cock, Bartolomeo closed his eyes, only to immediately feel cum streak across the bridge of his nose, slipping down through his eyelashes as Cavendish continued to paint his face with it, only managing to get a little bit into his open mouth. 

Barto swallowed it down, savoring the taste, and worked his fist in a few more tight passes before spilling into his palm with a low groan. 

Cavendish got up to get a washcloth and carefully cleaned up Bartolomeo’s face before climbing back on top of him to nuzzle against his chest. 

“You have the best tits in the world, Barto,” he murmured, affectionate and still more than a little high from his orgasm. 

“Yeah?” Bartolomeo chuckled, hand rubbing slowly over the length of Cavendish’s spine. “Get me a Playboy centerspread and I’ll believe it.”

“Mmm.” Cavendish hummed thoughtfully, pushing at the pliable muscle with his nose and running an absent thumb across the curve of his tattoo. “I could probably do that. I was in Playgirl when I was twenty-one, back when it was still running.”

“Sure, okay,” Bartolomeo replied, before his brain caught up to what Cavendish had actually said and came to an effective halt. “I…you…”

Bartolomeo stared down at him, jaw slack, desperately hoping that somewhere, one of Cavendish’s many fans had a copy that he could pay a stupid amount of money for. 

_“Wait, Cav, **what?!** ”_

Cavendish just laughed.


	14. Roleplay (Franky/Robin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> I did not take this holiday into consideration at all when I was planning out what prompts to use for what days, so this isn't Valentine's themed or anything. But, today's the day, so hope y'all have a good one anyway. 
> 
> Also, I haven't actually finished writing or posted my Frobin Modern AU one-shot (sorry!), so, just know that she's a history professor, and that Franky gets all kinds of hot and bothered seeing her teach. That's where this idea came from. Oh, and Franky has a prosthetic arm and leg, but only one of those really comes into play.

Robin was frowning down at the paper in her hand when she heard a knock on the door of her office and she looked up before answering.

“Come in.”

The student at the door looked nervous, hands twisting in the hem of his brightly colored shirt.

“Close the door.”

He did, and Robin eyed him for a moment from behind her glasses, waiting until he’d started to squirm before speaking again. 

“Do you know why I asked you to come and talk to me?”

“Cause I…failed that last test…?”

“That’s correct.”

She stood up, moving to sit on the corner of the desk. His eyes followed her, watching as her pencil skirt rose higher up her thighs, darkening at the brief flash of purple beneath it when she crossed her ankles. 

“You have a lot of potential, it’s a shame to see it wasted like this.”

Her voice was low, a little husky, but firm, and when his fingers clenched, she was almost certain from the awkward placement of his hands that he was already trying to hide an erection.

“Is there anything I can do to raise my grade then…” He hesitated for a moment, brow furrowing. “Professor?” When Robin shrugged slightly, he nodded. 

“I don’t know,” she countered. “Is there?”

They made eye contact for a long moment. Finally, he turned, locking the door to her office, and then moved to stand before her. Slowly, his fingers moved down to the top button of her blouse, and when she didn’t protest, he continued. Three buttons in, it became clear that she had nothing on underneath it, and he let out a little groan as his fingertips brushed over her nipples. 

“Shit, Robbie…”

Robin’s eyebrows rose and Franky’s cheeks went red as he corrected himself.

“I mean, uh…wow, ma’am.”

Robin stifled a laugh behind her hand and schooled her expression before looking back up. “Are you going to earn yourself a better grade or not?”

“Yes, ma’am, Dr. Nico.”

Franky knelt down, sliding his hands beneath Robin’s skirt and then frowning when its unyielding fabric only shimmied a little further up her thighs before stopping. His original plan thwarted, he just kissed along the inside of her knees, fingers creeping up to brush over the lace of her panties. A hot breath fanned out across her skin, raising goosebumps, and Franky looked up toward her, eyes wide. 

“You’re so wet.”

“I like to see my students giving commendable effort,” she replied, fingers wrapping around his wrist to guide his hand to the top of her panties. 

Franky slid them down and off before returning to kiss the pale expanse of her legs. He slipped two fingers along her thigh, propping one of her ankles on his shoulder as he sank them into her wet heat and earned a moan. 

She shuddered as he pressed his thumb to her clit and he canted his gaze up toward her. 

“How am I doing, Professor?”

“Very well,” Robin answered breathlessly, rocking into the pressure of his thumb as he stroked softly along her walls with his fingertips. “I’ll bring your test score up one letter grade for each time you can make me come before you do.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Franky mumbled. “I’ll earn an A, I swear it.”

She felt the smooth metal of his prosthetic hand a moment later, rolling one of her nipples as he began to pump his fingers inside of her. When they curled with expert precision, she arched into him, pressing his fingers deeper as her breast filled his palm. 

Despite her initial hesitation, Robin was undeniably aroused by this scenario that her husband had all but begged for, and it took little effort for him to bring her over the edge. 

Before she could even stop trembling, Franky was lifting her off the desk, hands yanking her skirt high enough for it to clear her thighs and allow the fabric to give way around her narrow waist. He plopped her down again, hooking both of her knees over his shoulders as he sank onto the carpet and buried his face between her thighs. 

Robin let out a loud cry, hips bucking into Franky’s tongue even as a rush of over sensitivity made her want to squirm away from the contact. She anchored her fingers in his hair, head connecting with her desk as her spine bent in a sharp arch. In less than a minute she was coming again, shaking uncontrollably in Franky’s steadying grip. 

He waited patiently for her to stop spasming, going back to placing gentle kisses across her thighs as she recovered. When she propped herself up on her elbows and nudged at him with her foot, he looked back up with a wide, sloppy grin.

“C’s get degrees, right, Professor?”

Robin laughed, and then offered a coy smile as she settled more securely on the top of her desk and spread her legs. 

“I thought you wanted an A.”

Franky bent over her, leaning until she was pressed against the smooth mahogany surface. 

“I appreciate the opportunity for extra credit, ma’am.” 

Robin heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and she looked up at him with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“I only offer it to my most deserving of students.”

Franky’s gaze lingered over her lips, looking uncertain, and when Robin nodded, he bent down to kiss her. She sucked on his tongue when he pressed it past the seam of her lips and Franky’s hips bucked forward, his belt buckle clanging as it collided with the desk and then dragging his pants unceremoniously toward his ankles. He fumbled around with one hand and then squirmed until he’d managed to kick aside his pants and underwear alike.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, breaking character for a moment.

Robin smiled softly. “Yes.”

Hooking her legs around his waist, he slid inside in one smooth movement, swearing quietly at the immediate vice grip of her warm, wet walls. 

“You feel…really good, Professor Nico,” Franky panted, still buried unmoving inside of her as he struggled to focus. 

“I’m glad,” she remarked with some amusement, before pushing both heels firmly against his ass and forcing him in just a little bit deeper. “Now, earn that A.”

Franky started slow, moving in short strokes as he took the time to admire the sight of Robin beneath him. Her glasses were slightly askew, pushed a little too far down her nose to be effective, her blouse was still open, baring her breasts, her pencil skirt was rucked up around her stomach, and the thigh-high tights she was wearing were smooth and soft against his sides. She had never actually worn anything quite like this at work, which made the assumed role a little easier for her, but it was checking every box on Franky’s hot professor list and he absolutely couldn’t be happier.

He began to move faster, thighs colliding with the edge of the desk on every forward thrust, and Robin hooked her fingers over it to try and shimmy closer and allow him in as deep as he could get. 

Franky was already looking a little too harried, the slick, warm pressure around his cock squeezing and gripping in all the right ways. But, he was nothing if not determined, and he was the one who had wanted all of this in the first place, so he was going to earn that A dammit, even if it was at the expense of chasing his own end. 

Shifting one hand, he lifted one of Robin’s legs until it was flat against his chest, hitching the other one a little higher up to wrap around his ribcage as he adjusted the angle of his hips. 

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously. 

“Rockin’ your world, Professor.”

Robin began to roll her eyes in response, and didn’t quite make a full circuit as they rolled back beneath fluttering lashes. 

“Oh, Franky, _yes_.”

The new angle had him slamming against that sweet spot deep inside her, stoking a hot flame in her lower belly with every increasingly forceful thrust. 

“There, that’s it, keep going.”

Her body tensed, pulling a low grunt out of Franky as the leg wrapped around his chest squeezed almost to a point of discomfort. He maintained the pace she’d indicated, keeping his movements short so she had only a brief second of time to recover between each press to her g-spot. 

Robin’s moans were growing higher, more staccato, her head tossing against the desk and crumpling the papers beneath it. She had just enough presence to be glad that she had managed to convince Franky to use their home office for this fantasy instead of her real one, just before she let out a loud cry of his name. 

“Franky, oh, God, _Franky_.”

Her body bowed off the surface of the desk, nails scrabbling fruitlessly against it in an effort to gain some sort of traction. Franky swore lowly, watching as her mouth fell open in a silent scream and then focusing frantically on an effort to read the titles on the bookshelf behind her to keep from spilling into the tight squeeze of her pussy. 

The moment she went boneless against the wood, Franky was lowering her leg again, hooking his arms up under her shoulders to lift her up and prop her in a limp lean against his chest. Robin wrapped her arms weakly around his back in as much of an embrace as she could manage with her trembling limbs, kissing into the crook of his neck and earning a groan. 

“I don’t know about that A, Dr. Nico,” Franky admitted, murmuring against the top of her head. “That was a pretty close call there on the last one.”

She let her head loll back, chin tilting to look up at him as she hummed low in her throat. “That would be a shame. I thought you were my top student.”

Franky groaned again, head dropping to her shoulder as he nodded against it. 

“Can you spread your legs any wider?”

Robin tried, and succeeded, managing to just slightly loosen the tight grip around his dick and take off a bit of the edge. 

He worked his prosthetic hand between them, brushing one smooth knuckle over the spread of her labia, his eyes falling to where they were joined. He watched as his cock left and then sank back into her soft, flushed opening, the sound of it slick and heady. 

Slowly, he began to work two fingers around her clit in teasing circles, earning a soft moan of approval and the tighter press of Robin’s breasts against the fabric of his shirt. She lifted a hand to unbutton it the rest of the way, sighing at the immediate press of skin against skin, warm and flushed and sensitive. Her nipples rubbed against the coarse dusting of blond hair on Franky’s chest, sending a shock of pleasure to her core and tightening the coil beginning to wind its way steadily back toward snapping. 

Robin drew Franky’s head back up, brushing her fingers back through his hair as she pulled him into a kiss. It started soft, far too sweet and loving for the roles they were supposed to be playing, but it devolved quickly. The moment Robin dragged her teeth over Franky’s bottom lip to urge it open his hips were snapping forward, driving deeper inside of her with each stroke until he was pounding into her at a reckless pace. He moaned into the sweep of her tongue, fingers pushing deliberately until Robin was just as breathless, working his fingers against her clit in time with the slamming of his cock and the wet slurping sounds of every frantic withdrawal. 

“Robin, fuck, Robbie, please come for me. I’m so close.”

She reached down to guide the increasingly slippery movements of his fingers, adding just enough weight and pressure to push herself over the edge as Franky pleaded against her parted lips. The second her walls began to pulse and contract, Franky shuddered in her grip, a veritable shout of relief tearing from his chest. He moved weakly against her, pushing into the rhythmic clenching of her pussy as he continued to pump her full of cum.

They made a sweaty, panting heap on top of Robin’s desk, making the wood groan in protest at their combined weight. 

Robin idly scratched her fingers along Franky’s scalp as he slowly slipped out of her, her body tensing in a half-hearted attempt to hold onto the cum already beginning to drip onto the carpet. 

“Congratulations, Franky, I’m very proud of you.”

Franky grunted an inquisitive reply and Robin tilted his chin so he was looking up at her. “You got the highest grade in the class on that last test.”

His confusion morphed into a grin and he propped his chin against her chest. “Thanks, Professor. It’s only cause you’re such a great teacher, takin’ the time to give me a little extra credit when I need it and all.”

He leaned forward to give her a kiss and then playfully waggled his eyebrows as he retreated again. “I think I’m gonna be failing _a lot_ more tests from now on.”


	15. Deepthroat + Bondage (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As referenced in ch. 3

“Are you ready for the other hand?”

Bartolomeo nodded, shifting his weight as the second cuff clicked into place, enjoying the press of the cool metal against his wrists. He was already salivating in anticipation, but after setting the key on the nightstand, Cavendish paused again.

“You’ll use your safe word if you need to?”

“ _Yes_ , Cav. C’mon.”

Cavendish was undeterred. “And if you can’t talk?”

“I’ll slap your ass with my knee.”

Cavendish’s brow furrowed. “Bartolomeo, be serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Barto sighed. “If I can’t talk, I’ll snap my fingers and that means you stop.”

“Okay. Good.”

Seemingly placated, Cavendish settled with his knees to either side of Bartolomeo’s propped up chest, taking a moment to run his fingers back through Barto’s hair when his lips parted in a thoroughly impatient gesture. He tugged when Bartolomeo petulantly stuck out his tongue, tilting his head back to gain control as he bent down for a kiss. He licked past Bartolomeo’s lips, across the roof of his mouth and over his teeth, but when he yanked his head up further to make an effort at his throat, Bartolomeo pulled back. 

“Don’t get too excited, babe,” he warned breathlessly. “You know I like feelin’ ya get hard in my mouth.”

Cavendish looked frustrated, but nodded and released Bartolomeo’s head from his grip, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip instead and urging them open again.

He watched as Bartolomeo wrapped his lips eagerly around his mostly soft cock, humming low in his throat as it jerked within the wet heat of his mouth.

The messy slurping sounds coming from his partner’s mouth brought a flush to Cavendish’s cheeks and when he glanced down, there was already spit sliding down to slick up Bartolomeo’s chin. God, if he was _already_ getting this sloppy…

Cavendish felt his dick twitch, swelling as Bartolomeo flicked his tongue across his frenulum and then lapped up the answering drops of pre-cum.

“Good,” Cavendish murmured mindlessly. He brought one hand back up to tangle in Barto’s mohawk, using it as leverage to tug his head closer and earning a low grunt of approval. 

“You’re so good at this. You never look better than you do with your lips stretched around my dick.”

Bartolomeo made a sound of affirmation, the rumble from his throat making Cavendish’s cock twitch again, already achingly hard within the confines of Barto’s mouth even though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since he’d first slipped between his lips. 

He let him suck at the tip for a bit longer before shifting his hands around to grip Bartolomeo’s head again as a warning. Barto’s eyes flicked up toward him, dark and already hazy with arousal. 

Cavendish started slow, watching the first few inches of his cock slide back and forth between the wet suction of Bartolomeo’s lips, enjoying the slick shine of his spit every time he pulled back. 

“You ready for more?”

Barto’s head bobbed and his eyes fluttered shut when Cavendish forced himself in deeper, just barely feeling resistance at the end of his reach. He dragged his cock across the wet expanse of Bartolomeo’s tongue, resting safely over his teeth as Cavendish fucked into the warmth of his mouth. 

Cavendish watched silently as Bartolomeo wiggled his jaw, adjusting to the stretch and then relaxing his throat so there was more room for Cavendish to move. He jerked forward the moment that he saw Bartolomeo’s neck stretch with the effort, eyes closing as he lengthened each stroke. 

“Fuck, Barto, your mouth was made to take my dick.”

Bartolomeo groaned his agreement, sending vibrations along the length in his mouth and making Cavendish’s rhythm falter. 

The jangle of the handcuffs made Cavendish open his eyes again and he cocked his head when Bartolomeo’s brow furrowed. Barto lapped at the underside of his cock, swirling his tongue over the tip when Cavendish pulled back and then making a vain effort to stretch his mouth wider. 

“More?” Cavendish asked, smirking slightly at the eager nod he got in response. “Alright.”

Fingers pressing tighter against Bartolomeo’s skull, he eased the rest of the way into his mouth, stopping when he felt the press of Bartolomeo’s septum ring against his skin, warm from the harsh puffs of breath leaving his flared nostrils. 

He stayed there for a few seconds, savoring the tight grip of Bartolomeo’s throat and the feeble attempts of his tongue to move within the scant space that remained in his mouth. 

“I’m going to start going faster,” Cavendish murmured, voice low and husky in a way that made Bartolomeo’s eyes darken. “Do you want me to get rough with you, Barto? Want me to treat you like the good cock sleeve you are?”

Bartolomeo wiggled ineffectually in his bonds, gaze pleading as he looked up to meet his partner’s even gaze. 

“Fine.”

He slid back out, slowly, so far that only the head of his cock rested on Barto’s lolled out tongue as it lapped desperately at every inch that it could still reach. And then he moved.

A rough groan was shoved harshly back into Bartolomeo’s throat by the pounding of his cock, each thrust strong enough to rattle the headboard, the sharp rhythm of metal and wood joined by the wet slapping of Cavendish’s balls against Bartolomeo’s slick chin on every inward stroke. 

Cavendish dropped one hand down to press against Bartolomeo’s neck, feeling it expand beneath the pads of his fingers as he shoved his cock down his throat. The pressure from both sides made tears begin to well in Bartolomeo’s eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing jaggedly as he tried to endure the unwilling stretch. 

He sniffled when Cavendish rammed even deeper on the next thrust, tears streaking across his cheeks as spit began to fall onto his chest and his nose began to run. 

Cavendish’s gaze was intense, almost feral, the blue of eyes swallowed by his lust-blown pupils as he took in the sight of his partner beneath him.

“Barto, can—”

He grunted, eyes fluttering shut when Bartolomeo weakly rubbed his tongue along Cavendish’s retreating shaft. 

“Can I take a picture of you?”

There was a brief pause, and then the rattle of the handcuff chain as Cavendish looked up to see Bartolomeo giving him a shaky ‘a-ok’ symbol. 

He retreated, Bartolomeo coughing harshly beneath him as he leaned over to grab his phone from the nightstand and opened his camera. 

“Do you have any idea how good you look like this, Bartolomeo?”

Barto just whined in answer, sounding as wrecked as he looked when Cavendish gripped his jaw to open it again and pressed his cock onto his tongue. 

“Yes,” Cavendish answered, taking a picture and then shoving back in again and shifting the angle to capture the bulge of Bartolomeo’s throat. “ _Very_ good.”

He pulled out again to scoot a little down the bed, getting not only the mess of Bartolomeo’s face but also the needy strain of his cock between his thighs, a harsh and neglected shade of red even against his flushed skin. 

Tossing his phone aside, Cavendish scrambled back up to Bartolomeo’s chest, both hands tangling in his hair. He pulled on it, hard enough that Bartolomeo moaned and bucked his hips fruitlessly into the air, then dragged the head of his cock across Barto’s cheeks, leaving a wet trail in its wake. 

“I’m going to make myself come now,” Cavendish said darkly. “And you’re going to take it, one way or another.”

The moment he shoved back in, Bartolomeo’s eyes rolled back. A half second later Cavendish felt a streak of warmth across his back and then another, weaker, sliding into the cleft of his ass as Bartolomeo jerked fitfully through the sudden, unexpected rush of his orgasm. 

Bartolomeo had wanted desperately to be able to come just from getting his throat fucked, so Cavendish had encouraged him into a few days of edging, making sure he would be sensitive and needy enough, but still, he had expected to have to lend a hand, and feeling Barto come untouched from having his cock down his throat sent a rush of arousal through Cavendish that was so strong his mind went blank with it. He rolled forward, pressing Bartolomeo’s nose flat against his pelvis as he rocked into him, deaf to the garbled clicking sounds of Barto’s throat as it clenched in a feeble attempt to eject its obstruction and gulp in air. 

“Where— _shit_ , where do you want me to come, Barto?”

Bartolomeo let his eyes flutter shut, but before Cavendish could pull out, he changed his mind and swallowed pointedly around Cavendish’s cock. The pulse of his already contracted throat squeezed Cavendish’s dick in a vice grip and he doubled over as he came, bent so far forward that his chest pressed to Bartolomeo’s feverish brow. 

He couldn’t tell if the strangled sound that tore through the room came from him or Bartolomeo, but they were both trembling as his hips worked through the weak aftershocks of his orgasm, cum still dribbling from his spent cock to fill Bartolomeo’s mouth. 

When he finally slipped free, Bartolomeo made a reluctant gargling sound, looking pathetic and desperate as he canted his weepy gaze up toward Cavendish. 

Cooing soothingly, Cavendish leaned down toward him. 

“Let me take some.”

He slotted their lips together, licking into the reservoir of cum pooled beneath Bartolomeo’s tongue until he’d managed to collect enough in his mouth that Barto’s abused throat could handle the rest. 

Bartolomeo swallowed gratefully, and Cavendish waited until his throat stopped bobbing to part his lips again and let the rest slip back onto Barto’s waiting tongue.

“Good boy. Make sure you get it all,” Cavendish murmured, massaging Bartolomeo’s throat to ease the last bit down and then watching as he licked his lips clean. His lip jutted out into a slight pout when he realized it was all gone and Cavendish kissed him chastely before moving to uncuff him. He gently lowered his left hand down to his chest before moving to the other, rubbing his hands across Bartolomeo’s wrists once they were both free from his bonds. 

“You did so well,” Cavendish said affectionately, bending to place a kiss on Bartolomeo’s forehead as Barto arched into the press of his lips and offered a soft rumble in reply. 

The fact that his normally chatty boyfriend hadn’t even attempted to speak yet was as much a testament to how thoroughly Cavendish had wrecked his throat as were the bruises already rising to paint his skin, but the sated, content expression on Bartolomeo’s face was enough to dispel any of Cavendish’s worries that he might have gone too far. 

“Alright.” Cavendish moved to retrieve the damp towel he’d set aside before they’d gotten started. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He rubbed it softly across the spit pooled on Barto’s chest and then used it to gently grip his chin as he licked across the wet sheen of his lips.

“You’re an absolute mess.”


	16. Intercrural (Zoro/Sanji)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else could it have been for the day about legs?

Sanji was in bed, comfortable and already dozing, when the sound of the front door jerked him back awake.

“Oi, Cook, you still up?”

There was a strange lilt to Zoro’s voice, a dark insistence that made Sanji snuggle deeper beneath the sheets. 

“I’m in bed,” he called out, listening to the heavy thump of Zoro’s approaching footsteps. 

When he appeared in the doorway, his eyes zeroed in on Sanji’s bundled form and then narrowed. 

There was always an _intensity_ to Zoro, no matter the situation. But now, Sanji could see the slight haze in his eyes, the soft flush of his cheeks that implied he’d had a bit more to drink than he said he would. And, if the way his eyes were devouring what little of Sanji was visible above the sheets was any indication, he knew exactly what he wanted. 

“Not tonight,” he deflected, despite the warmth blooming low in his gut. “I’m tired.”

“Tired?” Zoro echoed. He grunted and took another step toward the bed. “Go to sleep then. I don’t need you awake.”

The implication made Sanji’s breath hitch and though he let out an affronted gasp, he felt the pit of his stomach clench pleasantly at the thought. Knowing Zoro would use him like that without hesitation, knowing he would _let_ him…well, tired or not, it was arousing. 

“You neanderthal,” Sanji protested, before canting his eyes away and sighing heavily. “I didn’t say I couldn’t still help, did I, Mosshead?”

Zoro was already stumbling out of his clothes and he cast a brief look in Sanji’s direction. “What did you have in mind?”

Sanji peeled back the sheets to reveal what he was wearing, watching as the brown of Zoro’s eyes was swallowed in black.

It wasn’t anything special, not really. He was bare-chested, owing to Zoro’s excessive body heat and the blankets Sanji refused to take off of his side of the bed, but what mattered was the pair of soft, short sleep shorts he was wearing. He had bought them on a whim a couple of years ago, not liking to sleep naked the way Zoro did, but also not liking to wear and sweat in either day old or new boxers overnight. The effect they had on his husband was an unintended but certainly not unappreciated side effect. 

Usually, they were just a staple in Sanji’s nighttime routine, and Zoro hardly paid them any mind. But when he got into one of his moods and Sanji offered up the sight of his long, muscular legs in those little shorts, they became a symbol for something much much more. 

Zoro groaned low in his chest and clambered onto the bed, kissing Sanji breathless. He knew what he was offering without Sanji having to say it, and the blond man gasped as Zoro grabbed his ankles and hauled his legs up against his chest without preamble. 

“Lube.”

Sanji flailed a hand out toward the dresser, tossing Zoro the bottle when his fingers curled around it. 

He worked quickly, smearing a liberal amount over the length of his erection before sliding it between Sanji’s thighs and offering a low groan. 

Sanji watched as his already hooded eyes fluttered shut. He crossed his ankles where they rested above Zoro’s shoulder, earning a grunt as his thighs pressed closer with the movement. 

Too horny to be patient, or maybe just a little too drunk to care, Zoro didn’t start slow like he usually did, savoring the slick slide of Sanji’s muscular thighs and the slight catch of the finer hairs there. When he started to move, it was with a quick and sloppy rhythm. The back of Sanji’s thighs collided with Zoro’s abdomen every time he tugged on them, opting to curl his thick fingers around Sanji’s legs and yank them forward every time he rocked his hips. 

“You’re being so rough,” Sanji chastised, cheeks starting to burn at the careless way that Zoro was pulling him across their increasingly rumpled sheets. 

Zoro’s eyes briefly cut up toward Sanji’s face, but he didn’t hear the word ‘too’, and it was clear already that Sanji was enjoying himself, so he didn’t stop what he was doing. His gaze dropped again, watching his cock as it pushed back and forth between the swell of Sanji’s thighs. The skin was already turning red from the friction, flushing with warmth, and when Zoro reached out a hand to add more lube, it began to squelch with every simultaneous yank and grind.

“You’re such a brute,” Sanji muttered, too breathless to sound much like an insult.

“That why you’re getting hard, Curly Brow?”

Sanji glared up at Zoro’s cocky smirk, huffing irritably when his husband’s eyes raked in a slow arc over the very obvious bulge forming beneath his shorts. 

“Too bad you’re too tired for me to fuck you proper.”

Zoro shifted, angling his knees so he had a better range of motion and then moving Sanji’s legs so they were propped to either side of his neck. After leaning forward to bend Sanji practically in half, Zoro slid his cock back in at the very juncture of his thighs, where they were still thick enough to squeeze against his erection despite the spread.

“You don’t seem to mind having to settle, Mosshead,” Sanji retorted. Zoro’s smug expression shifted when Sanji flexed the lean muscles of his legs, jaw going slack as he began to slam faster into the space he’d been provided.

“Well, you’ve got sexy legs, for all of your other faults,” Zoro managed, breath huffing out in harsh pants.

Sanji snorted, but without much force. With the shift in position, Zoro’s cock was dragging across his balls with a steady, even friction and even through the fabric of his shorts the contact was delicious. There was lube and pre-cum dripping down to soak the tiny shorts, and even so, Sanji could tell that his own twitching, aching cock was beginning to leak and darken the once light material. 

Zoro had fully devolved into unintelligible grunts and groans, teeth bared and eyes unfocused. His thrusts were growing uneven, shortening so that he was grinding the sensitive head back and forth between the tight squeeze of Sanji’s thighs. Sanji’s gut clenched at the sight, watching the thick, flushed head of his husband’s cock disappearing and reappearing in rapid strokes, squelching wetly as it oozed pre-cum in a pearly stream.

Zoro’s grip on Sanji’s legs tightened enough to bruise and he released a low snarl, cock swelling and pulsing between the almost feverish warmth of Sanji’s inner thighs. His cum fell in streaks across the tent of Sanji’s erection, soaking through and making warm, sticky strings between Sanji’s cock and the fabric. 

As soon as Zoro’s eyes opened again, Sanji was shoving the hem of his shorts down under his balls and grabbing for Zoro’s wrist. 

In a gesture as lazy as it was infuriating, Zoro slapped Sanji’s questing hand away, his expression incredulous. “You’re _too tired_ , Curly Brow. I got my rocks off, just roll over and go to sleep.”

“You bastard,” Sanji hissed, his one visible eye narrowed to a thin slit. “If you think you can just sit there and force me to jack myself off while you watch, I swear to God, first thing in the morning I’m hiring a lawyer and I’m going to—”

His threat was cut off in a startled, choked off gasp. Zoro swept his fingers through the mess of lube and cum sliding from Sanji’s scrunched up shorts onto the sheets and then brought them up in a sloppy arc across his balls, leaving a sticky trail all the way to the head of his cock as he arched into the sensation. 

Sanji looked ready to start cursing a little more intently, if the tight knit of his brow was any indication, but before he could start, Zoro wrapped his hand around him and began to pump.

A few concentrated strokes had Sanji’s toes curling into the mattress, his hair mussed in the rumpled sheets, one hand sweeping absently across his forehead and pushing aside his bangs so that Zoro could see the haze of both heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Fuck, Sanji.”

The sound of his name made Sanji shudder and he fell apart in a trembling, gasping mess, repeating Zoro’s name in a delirious chant as he came. 

Zoro was rolled over and snoring before Sanji had even managed to recover and he gave his husband a look of mixed exasperation and affection before leaving to take a quick shower and find something else to sleep in. 

Returning to the bed, he manhandled Zoro onto his side, waking him up just enough for him to wrap his arm around Sanji of his own volition as Sanji snuggled back into the warmth of his chest. 

“So, how was the bachelor party?”

Zoro shrugged, his voice raspy and sleepily slurred when he responded. “It was fine. I told Johnny that marriage sucks and it’ll ruin the rest of his life.”

“Asshole,” Sanji muttered fondly, delivering a half-hearted kick back against Zoro’s shin. He tilted his head back when Zoro chuckled and gave him a chaste kiss before settling down again.

“You’re a menace and the most irritating idiot in the world, Mosshead.” With Sanji facing away, Zoro couldn’t see the smile that played at his lips, but he could hear it in his tone nonetheless.

“Mm, yeah, I know,” Zoro mumbled, before pressing his lips to Sanji’s shoulder. “I love you too, Sanji.”


	17. Recording (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When my husband put this prompt on the list I knew immediately that this is what I wanted to do with it, and I had a ton of fun writing this one. If you couldn’t already tell, I absolutely adore these two, and I think homemade JOI porn fits perfectly in their wheelhouse.

Bartolomeo was frustrated. 

Generally, and sexually.

Because playing on the screen of their massive wall-mounted TV was, well, just commentary now actually, some introduction for the goofy-looking, gangly rapper that was about to perform. _But_ , a few minutes ago, the screen was filled with the image of Cavendish in all his perfection, strutting down the catwalk in something that Barto was honestly surprised could be classified as lingerie. It looked more like he had just been wrapped up in holiday ribbon, and _goddamn_ he’d looked good in it.

So, the problem was, instead of going with Cavendish to the annual Ivankov’s Secret Fashion Show as he usually did, Bartolomeo was stuck at home with a conflicting schedule, reduced to watching it live, scratching idly at Durandal’s ears as he ate popcorn from a bowl that was by now propped up by a fairly substantial erection.

It wasn’t _fair_. Normally he’d get a few minutes of making out or heavy petting in Cavendish’s dressing room between each turn on the stage, a quickie during the mid-show musician spotlight, and a good, long, desperate fuck when the show and the afterparty were finally over and he could drag Cavendish back to their hotel, fucking him into the mattress until he was screaming and writhing in a sticky, growing puddle of his own cum. 

And to make matters worse, Cavendish knew he was watching live, so every time he turned on his heel, he’d throw a wink at the cameras, or a little wave of his fingers, or a flashy grin, or he’d blow a kiss and Barto would feel his heart skip a beat when the spotlights caught the glint of the ring on his finger—a new addition for this year’s show, and one that Bartolomeo was rather proud of. 

He groaned and flopped his head back onto the back of the couch, ignoring the inquisitive, mid-purr chirp from the cushion beside him.

It wasn’t quite the same, but, Scratchmen whoever the hell would be screeching onstage for another half hour at least, followed by the reveal that he was dating one of the other models who Cavendish spoke of with utter disdain, plus, it was live so he couldn’t skip through it, so, with a resigned sigh, Bartolomeo moved the popcorn to the coffee table, gave Durandal a farewell pat, and trudged to the bedroom.

He knew he could get off quick enough just thinking about literally any of the things he’d seen Cavendish wearing over the last hour and a half, and was intending to do exactly that when he remembered something Cavendish had said before he’d left. 

_“Oh, and Barto,”_ He’d lifted up onto his toes to kiss him one last time before having to go through security, and when he’d looked up at Bartolomeo, it had been with a coy gaze and a particularly smug tone. _“If at any point while I’m gone you really get to missing me, I left something for you on my computer. A present. I think you’ll really like it.”_

The way he’d talked about it made it clear that it was an at least vaguely sexual present, but hey, even if all he did was save a few nudes to the desktop, Barto wouldn’t mind that. His fiancé had the prettiest dick he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing, and he’d never get tired of looking at it.

He took a detour to Cavendish’s desk at the edge of the room, grabbing his laptop and bringing it back with him to the bed before propping a few pillows up against the headboard and settling back into their plush embrace. 

There was something new saved to the desktop, a video by the look of it, and the mere implication of that made Bartolomeo’s cock jump in its confines. 

He opened it, and then opted for kicking off his boxers before pressing play.

Cavendish was sitting exactly where Barto was now, wearing a robe tied just loosely enough to slouch down across his bare shoulders. His hair fell over them in loose curls, the way it did after it had dried naturally and hadn’t been subjected to a strict regiment of hair products yet, and Barto wondered absently when the last time was that Cavendish had had the house to himself for long enough to shower, fully air dry, and record whatever the hell this was. 

“Hey, Barto...”

Right off the bat, Cavendish’s voice came out in a silky purr and Bartolomeo brought a hand down to his cock.

“If you’re watching this it’s because you’re missing me.” His eyes flicked down, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “I bet you’re already hard.” When he looked back at the camera again his eyes were hooded and Bartolomeo felt his cock twitch against his palm. “Are you, Barto?” His tone was equal parts teasing and taunting. “Are you already hard and throbbing just thinking about me?”

Bartolomeo nodded absently, despite Cavendish’s inability to see him.

“I bet you’re already touching yourself too. Your big hand wrapped all the way around your cock, thumb pushing up underneath the head just the way you like.”

Flushing a little, Barto adjusted his grip so Cavendish’s assessment wouldn’t be quite so spot-on. And then his breath hitched at Cavendish’s next words. 

“Stop. I didn’t tell you that you could, did I?”

Bartolomeo had his hand off his cock so fast that it bobbed back to smack against his stomach, leaving a little wet smear before returning to quiver untouched in the air, Barto’s palms flat to the mattress.

“Good boy.”

Hearing those words, knowing that Cavendish would know he’d obeyed instantly, God, it was _good_. His cock gave a fitful throb.

“Just look at me, alright?”

His gaze raked over the image on the computer screen, watching as Cavendish slowly, _slowly_ peeled away the robe, revealing one smooth, creamy inch of skin at a time. When it slipped down to pool around his waist, Barto’s eyes swept back up again, mouth going dry.

“This is one of your favorites, isn’t it?”

Bartolomeo’s head bobbed again in answer, gaze tethered to the way the thin lace clung to the dips of Cavendish’s toned abdomen, raised by the peak of his nipples. He lifted a hand to tweak one of them, making a soft little sighing sound that made Bartolomeo’s cock swell even more. 

“Put your thumb and your forefinger together for me, Barto,” Cavendish instructed. 

Bartolomeo looked away from the screen with some reluctance, frowning down at his hand as he mimicked Cavendish’s gesture onscreen. 

“Good, now, start to slide it back over your dick for me, just those two fingers, none of the others. Start at the tip and go all the way down. Make sure you count all the way to ten before you get to the base. I don’t want you going any faster than that, okay? I’ll count with you.”

Bartolomeo brought the trembling circle of his fingers to the head of his cock, swallowing thickly as he began to slide it down at an achingly slow pace.

“One…two…”

Cavendish sighed, his hazy blue eyes descending in slow increments as if he could actually see the movement of Bartolomeo’s hand.

“It’s a good thing you’re the one doing this. We both know if I tried I wouldn’t even be able to get my fingers all the way around your thick cock.”

Bartolomeo’s hips jerked unthinkingly and when Cavendish’s eyes flicked back up briefly toward the camera, he looked smug. Barto flushed. 

“Three…four…five…That’s halfway. You’re doing so good for me, Barto. I promise I’ll make it worth it if you do everything I say.”

Bartolomeo’s breath was getting increasingly labored, his chest heaving as his eyes shifted restlessly between Cavendish and the slow descent of his fingers down his shaft. He was twitching with almost every number, desperate for a little more friction.

“Six…seven…eight…nine…” Cavendish paused, making Bartolomeo groan, and then he finished with a coy quirk of his lips. “Ten. Very good. Go ahead and use your other three fingers and brush them over your balls, just for a second.”

The soft touch of his fingertips across his sack felt more like a tease than any sort of relief, and he grit his teeth when Cavendish piped back up immediately. 

“Stop. Just look at me again.”

He froze, two fingers circled around the base of his dick, the others just hovering, careful not to touch anywhere that Cavendish hadn’t instructed. Cavendish pushed the computer a little farther away and then discarded the robe completely. He spread his knees in a slow, fluid movement, revealing the hard bulge of his cock beneath the sheer lingerie.

“I’ve been getting hard knowing that you’re touching yourself,” he said, soft enough to feel almost like a secret. “Knowing how obedient you’re being.” Cavendish brought his palm in a firm pass over his erection, moaning as his back arched into the contact and drawing a needy little sound from Bartolomeo’s throat.

“Are you still looking at me?”

Bartolomeo nodded dumbly. He couldn’t have looked away even if he’d wanted to.

“Good. Don’t look away, but go ahead and add another finger for me, Barto. Just one. And go all the way back up to the tip again, as slow as before. You’re counting on your own this time.” He waited for a few seconds, and Bartolomeo was halfway back up toward the head of his cock before Cavendish spoke again.

“Do you want this off, baby?” He plucked a few blunt fingernails at the edge of the lacy fabric, eyebrows raised. 

Usually, Bartolomeo was the one practically spewing pet names in the bedroom because Cavendish liked hearing them so much, but being called baby with Cavendish’s voice as cloyingly sweet as it was was very much doing it for him and he let out a whine. “Yes, _please_.”

Cavendish offered a throaty chuckle in answer, the rough sound of it making Bartolomeo’s cock jump and he realized with a small measure of shame that he had no fucking clue what number he had been on. “You sound so pretty when you’re begging, Bartolomeo. I wish I could hear how desperate you must sound already.”

Cavendish took a moment to take off the lingerie before resettling against the pillows. “Did you make it back to the tip?” 

Bartolomeo looked down, a little surprised to find that yes, evidently, he had, although he didn’t remember much of the journey to get there. 

“Perfect. Are you leaking for me yet, sweet boy?”

Cavendish knew that he would be and sure enough, Bartolomeo watched as a pearl of pre-cum welled from his slit, rolling in a slick trail across the head of his cock as another began to form in its place.

“Add another finger. That should be four now, just your pinky out.” Cavendish wiggled his pinky with a little giggle at the mental picture and then schooled his expression again. “How does it feel, Barto? Having just a little more grip each time, getting a little bit slicker? I bet you’re ready to just start pumping that big, hard dick of yours, but,” He tutted reproachfully. “Not yet. Not until I tell you to. Keep being good for me, Bartolomeo and I’ll make you feel so good, baby, I promise.”

Barto groaned, long and loud, his hand shaking as it began to descend once more, slowly, despite Cavendish’s lack of instruction to keep up the torturously slow pace. He was well-trained, and Cavendish knew it.

“Get back down to the base again and I’ll give you a little reward.”

Bartolomeo was counting under his breath and Cavendish sat in silence, one finger brushing slowly up and down his own erection as he looked toward the camera with a heavy-lidded stare. Just a half second after Barto reached ‘ten’, he spoke again.

“Alright. Just watch for a second.”

Cavendish propped one knee back up, swinging that leg out far enough that his heel was just barely perched on the edge of the bed. The other he lifted, hand hooking behind his knee for just a second before he seemingly realized that he would need it. Instead, he stretched just a bit further, his knee hitching up around the back of his neck in a position so effortless that Bartolomeo’s cock throbbed insistently. Goddamn, Cavendish was so flexible it was stupid and as much as he was enjoying this, Barto wished that he was here so he could fold himself into a perfectly fuckable little pretzel and get absolutely railed.

Desired stretch achieved, Cavendish had successfully drawn attention to the slight tilt of his hips toward the camera, the new angle revealing the shine of a plug between the smooth curve of his ass cheeks. 

“Because you’ve been doing so well for me I’m going to let you see it, alright?” 

Bartolomeo nodded frantically, swearing when Cavendish pulled the plug free, only for his hole to clench around nothing in its desire to be filled back up. Cavendish moaned, fingertips digging into the round globes of his ass as he pulled them apart to give Bartolomeo a better view. 

“Last finger, Barto,” Cavendish said breathlessly, eyes firm on the camera. “Get some lube first. Get yourself nice and wet and then wrap that whole hand around your cock for me, Bartolomeo.”

Barto obeyed, scrambling up to grab the nearest bottle before letting some slip out, gasping as it fell, slick and cool over his slit and along his frenulum as it began to drip. He caught it, wrapping his hand around his red, aching cock as Cavendish had asked, feeling the thrum of the engorged veins beneath his palm.

“Okay, just one more count for me, Barto, baby. I’m going to count down from ten, and when I get to one, you’re going to come. Not a second before, alright?”

Bartolomeo groaned, his free hand gripping in the sheets as a shudder worked its way down his spine in anticipation.

“Ten.”

He started to move, just one pass at first, from base to tip, squeezing and earning another sluggish trail of pre-cum to add to the slick slide of his fingers as they began to move down again.

“Nine.”

His hips bucked, against his will, and he couldn’t keep them from repeating the jerky movement, fucking up into the grip of his fist as he began to pant.

“Eight. You're almost there, Bartolomeo. So close, and then you'll feel so good.”

Balls drawing taut, Barto moved his other hand to tease across them, eyes fluttering shut at even just that little bit of added stimulation.

“Seven.”

His vision was blurring now, each increasingly harried jerk of his fist and buck of his hips making it harder to see the way Cavendish’s lips shifted to form each new number.

“Six.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Five. You're doing so well, sweetheart. Such a good boy for me, aren't you, Barto?”

He was getting close, _too_ close, lids heavy, abdomen trembling as the knot in the pit of his stomach pulled tighter.

“Four.”

“Oh, God, Cav, baby, _fuck_.”

“Three.”

His eyes rolled back, thighs tense, spine arched, his hand working in feverish strokes just along the sensitive ridge below the head of his cock.

“Two.”

_“Please, Cavendish, oh my God, please, I wanna come.”_

“One.”

The effect was instantaneous, cum shooting out across his chest as Bartolomeo let out a wail, shaking as his cock continued to pulse in his fist, pumping wave after wave of cum over his fingers in what felt like an endless stream. 

He collapsed in a shuddering heap, vaguely aware that he was missing whatever Cavendish’s final words of praise were as his blood rushed loud and insistent in his ears.

The video clicked to a stop as Bartolomeo continued to lay limply in the rumpled sheets, covered in his own cum. He felt strangely content. A very sticky, sloppy, boneless content, but content nonetheless. 

He sighed, a shaky, heaving sigh, and as it released, he felt his phone begin to vibrate where he’d tossed it on Cavendish’s side of the bed. Reaching for it wearily, he saw a whole line of missed notifications scroll across the top before it began to buzz again, Cavendish’s smiling face lit up on his screen.

“Hey,” he offered, honestly surprised he’d even been able to manage that.

If Cavendish picked up on the tone of his voice, he didn’t say anything, launching immediately into a tirade.

“I just need to rant for a minute, bear with me. As I’m sure you can see, the spotlight is _still_ on that inane rapper and they just fucking brought stupid _Hawkins_ out on stage with him and I can’t stand his insufferable smirk and just _look_ at him, Barto! He got _bangs_! Is he fucking _trying_ to _be_ me?! Understandable, except he’s like five years older than me and you can _tell_ , and what the fuck is even up with his stupid tattoos? Not that there’s anything wrong with tattoos, you know I think yours are hot, but he’s just so…” Cavendish made a strangled sound of rage. “Just so fucking _stupid_ and I _hate_ him and his goddamned tarot cards and I know I— _we_ proposed a few months ago now but it’s the first big show I’ve walked in since it happened so they _should_ be talking to me about it, and everybody just keeps asking where you are and it’s making me miss you even more, and fuck, Barto, why does anyone even give a shit who Scratchmen’s sticking his dick in this time?” He let out a heavy sigh, audibly annoyed, managed to compose himself slightly, and then piped up again, his tone shifting to a mix of confusion and curiosity. “I was trying to call you for like ten minutes straight. What were you doing anyway? Did you decide to take a shower during the break? It’s like…two in the afternoon back home right now isn’t it?”

Bartolomeo blinked a few times, the substance of Cavendish’s irritated diatribe going in one ear and right back out the other. Just the sound of his voice again coupled with Barto’s vacant stare toward the stationary image of a very naked Cavendish on the laptop screen was almost enough to get him hard again.

“Uh huh.”

This time, Cavendish seemed to pick up on the foggy, distracted quality of his voice, and when he replied, he sounded incredibly smug. 

“ _Oh…_ You were enjoying this year’s designs a little too much and decided to open my present, didn’t you?”

“Uh huh.”

Cavendish made a soft sound of approval. “Did you enjoy it?”

Bartolomeo wanted to be able to say something like ‘hell yeah, Cav, you’re hot as fuck,’ but his brain still felt like little more than mush so he settled for a third, grunted, “Uh huh.”

“Mmm, I bet you did. You know, I thought about it after I’d finished when it was too late, but can you do me a favor, Barto?” He didn’t give him time to respond, expecting what would have just been another vague sound of acceptance. “If you decide you want to watch it again, can you record yourself while you do and send it to me? I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to slip out from the afterparty a little early.”

The thought of Cavendish jerking off in his hotel room to a video of Bartolomeo jerking off to a video of Cavendish was one too many levels of confusing for his post-orgasmic brain, but arousing even so. Barto felt his cock stiffen.

“Uh huh.” And then, a small victory, “Sure.”

Cavendish laughed, the sound soft and affectionate, and Barto’s chest bloomed with warmth.

“Alright, you’re way too fucked out to be having this conversation right now. I’ll call you back when the show’s over, okay? I love you, and don’t forget to record yourself next time.”

“Uh huh, yeah.” Bartolomeo switched his phone to speaker, opening up the camera and propping it up against the bottom edge of the laptop. Cavendish had said that the break was still going on, and if Hawkins had only just been brought out onstage, that meant he still had plenty of time. He brought one hand to the touchpad, mouse hovering over the play button, and the other returned to his half-hard cock, stomach clenching at the knowledge that in just a few short seconds he’d be being ordered to stop once again.

“Sure, next time.” He heard the line click after another snorting laugh and a moment later, the sound of Cavendish's voice again, just as fond and self-satisfied as it had been over the phone.

“Hey, Barto...”


	18. Foursome (Iceburg/Paulie/Lucci/Kaku)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally set this at 25 chapters intending to take a few break days as needed, but we're only a week out from 25 now and I've been able to keep posting daily, so I'm thinking I might just pick a few more prompts of my own and give y'all three bonus chapters.

“Are you sure about this?”

It was at least the fifth time that Paulie had asked since they’d left their house, and by now, was a particularly moot question as they sat in Lucci and Kaku’s driveway, Iceburg already half-hard just from the anticipation of what was to come.

“Yes,” he said mildly, watching his husband’s hands flex anxiously around the steering wheel. “Are you?”

“Yeah, sure, sure, but, we can still turn around and go home and I can just tell Lucci that you changed your mind if—”

Iceburg leaned over, hooking one hand around Paulie’s neck to pull him into a kiss that effectively ended his nervous rambling. 

“I want this, Paulie. I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I didn’t.”

Paulie exhaled, his warm, shaky breath fanning over Iceburg’s parted lips and severing the string of saliva that kept them connected. 

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

Lifting the hand that wasn’t clutched in Paulie’s death grip, Iceburg rapped on the front door. When no response came, he tried the doorknob, and then pulled Paulie inside when it turned in his grip. 

The living room was dark and empty. Hattori’s cage rattled as he squawked a greeting. 

“We’re in the bedroom,” Lucci called out. “Come back when you’re ready.”

As Iceburg turned to lock the front door, Paulie spent a moment standing in the quiet living room, allowing himself to get in the right headspace for what was coming. He heard a soft, breathy sound from the back of the house and his cock twitched with interest, finally overcoming the nerves that had kept his body from reacting to the situation it found itself in.

Their footsteps sounded loud as they walked to the bedroom, echoing along the walls to announce their entry. 

Lucci’s eyes met Paulie’s as they appeared in the doorway, then flicked down to where he still had Iceburg’s hand in a white-knuckled grip. Kaku was sprawled across the bed, head tipped off the foot of it. His mouth was open, panting, while Lucci slowly dragged his tongue across Kaku’s tight, twitching hole.

“Nervous?”

Paulie shook his head, unconvincingly, flushing beneath their combined stare when Kaku’s eyes fluttered open to greet them.

“Strip when you’re ready and join us.” Lucci looked up toward Iceburg, gaze darkening at the clear signs of arousal on the older man’s features. 

For a moment, they stayed frozen in the doorway, Paulie holding Iceburg tight against his side as they both stared toward the men on the bed. 

He didn’t know exactly why his stomach felt like it had been overtaken by an entire swarm of butterflies. This wasn’t even close to his first time in Lucci and Kaku’s bedroom. They had dated for a few months in college, before Paulie realized that friendship and sexual attraction could only get him so far in a relationship when he was looking for a romantic connection. The break-up was amicable, and they had maintained a loose friends with benefits arrangement for the times when Paulie was sexually frustrated and Lucci and Kaku weren’t dating anyone else. 

That had all been before Iceburg though. Now he was back, with his husband standing beside him. And Iceburg was watching Lucci, Paulie’s best man at their wedding, Paulie’s remarkably attractive ex-boyfriend, rimming his other best friend and ex-boyfriend, with a bulge in his slacks that wasn’t subtle at all.

His head felt swimmy, almost like he was slipping into the shallow end of subspace just from the eye contact between Lucci and Iceburg. It was…weird. And hot. And _fuck_ was he hard. 

When he let go of Iceburg’s hand to wipe his sweaty palm against his jeans, Iceburg looked down toward him. He offered a smile of encouragement, and when Paulie began to undress, Iceburg followed suit. 

Lucci continued to eat out his partner, his tongue occasionally rising to lave at his balls or tease the tip of his cock. Kaku whimpered his encouragement, gaze following the other couple’s movements as Paulie retrieved the box of condoms from their bedside table. 

“Where do you want us, Lucci?”

Paulie deferred to Lucci, as he always had when he was with him and Kaku, and he felt a powerful surge of arousal in his gut when he saw Lucci look up toward Iceburg before answering. 

“Is there anything you aren’t comfortable with?”

“I don’t care who Paulie fucks,” Iceburg answered, his voice low and rough with arousal. “And I'm willing to switch, but I don’t want anyone else in my ass.”

Lucci nodded in acknowledgement, rising from the bed as Paulie and Iceburg settled on the edge of it. “Wherever you want. I made sure Kaku’s ready for you, but he was being a brat earlier, so he deserves a little more teasing first.”

Kaku threw a pout in Lucci’s direction and his partner shrugged unapologetically as he pulled a chair up beside the long end of the bed. He was still fully dressed, but when Paulie settled back against the pillows, his hand moved to the button of his pants. 

“What do you want?” Paulie asked Iceburg softly. His husband leaned down to capture his lips in a long kiss before reaching for the bottle of lube among the sheets. 

“I want you to fuck me. I’ll get myself ready, if you want to use him.”

They both looked toward Kaku, who wiggled his fingers in a cheeky wave from the foot of the bed. Paulie motioned him forward and he came crawling on his hands and knees, swallowing down Paulie’s dick without hesitation. 

“Fuck.” 

Iceburg, Paulie, and Lucci all said it in unison, eyes tethered to the stretch of Kaku’s lips around Paulie’s cock and the way his throat bobbed as he gulped eagerly around it. 

Lucci made a gesture toward Iceburg who slicked up his own fingers before tossing the lube toward Lucci. He caught it in one hand, the other pulling his cock free from his slacks and stroking it in a slow, steady rhythm to match the bobbing of Kaku’s head. Though he didn’t get a chance to act on it with any sort of regular frequency, Lucci loved watching Kaku get fucked, in a way he couldn’t quite accomplish with the aid of a mirror or a camera. There were few things hotter than the way his partner looked gagging or being stretched open on another man’s cock.

Paulie had started bucking his hips, mumbling garbled curses as spit fell from Kaku’s red, swollen lips to slide over his balls and dampen the sheets beneath them. He’d been so wound up from nerves and anticipation that his first orgasm was already astonishingly close, pooling in the pit of his stomach as he jerked into the hot squeeze of Kaku’s throat. 

Iceburg could read his husband’s expression well enough to know what was coming and he moved swiftly, pulling Kaku off of Paulie’s cock with an unintentionally harsh hand in his hair. Kaku sputtered out a cry of surprised pleasure, his eyes darting over to watch as Lucci squeezed around the head of his cock with a low growl. 

Iceburg’s gaze followed and Lucci looked at them both with eyes blown so wide with lust they were nearly black. 

“Go ahead. He likes getting roughed up.”

Kaku moaned, lolling his tongue fruitlessly toward Paulie’s straining erection as Iceburg held him at bay, grip tightening. 

Paulie looked dazedly up toward Iceburg, breath leaving his lips in a shaky rush when he spoke coolly to answer the question in his gaze. 

“I can’t ride you if you’re soft. Don’t be so easy, Paulie.”

“Isn’t his fault Kaku’s such a greedy cock slut,” Lucci drawled from his position alongside the bed. Paulie shuddered beneath the combined force of the two obviously dominant men in the room and Kaku just offered a half-hearted snort.

“Are you going to come as soon as you’re inside me?”

Paulie shook his head and Iceburg hummed in reply, releasing Kaku to flop down on the mattress next to Paulie.

“Mm, good.”

Iceburg settled comfortably on Paulie’s cock, leaning in to kiss him as he rolled his hips in a rhythm that was frustratingly slow for how close Paulie had been just a few moments before. When he tried to move his hands to Iceburg’s hips and urge him on a little faster, Iceburg caught his wrists, clicking his tongue and making Paulie whine. 

Lucci watched them, pleased by how easily Paulie fell under Iceburg’s control. When he started to rock at a faster pace, Paulie threw his head back and just as Lucci was eyeing the stretch of his neck, Iceburg bent down, sucking a dark mark against the flushed skin. 

When Kaku saw where his partner’s attention was focused, and noted how absorbed Paulie and Iceburg currently were in each other, he stuck his lip out in a petulant pout.

“Come on over, darlin’. Gimme some sugar. I don’t like feelin’ left out.”

Lucci shook his head slowly, eyes still dark and focused despite their tendency to roll at Kaku’s colorful idioms. “Want to see you get fucked first.”

That made Iceburg and Paulie hesitate, their eyes meeting briefly. Before Iceburg could ask, Paulie leaned up to whisper against his ear. “I wanna watch you. Please.”

Iceburg nodded in acceptance, gaze shifting toward Lucci.

“Do you mind if it’s me?”

Lucci grinned, a smile so thin and feral that it sent a shiver down Iceburg’s spine.

“Not at all.”

Iceburg rose up off of Paulie’s cock, ignoring his groan of frustration at having his orgasm robbed from him once again.

Lucci leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees as his fingers steepled beneath his chin. How he could look so simultaneously composed and ravenous when his cock was red and throbbing against his pre-cum smeared dress shirt, Iceburg couldn’t fathom. There was an intensity to him that was as attractive as it was undoubtedly dangerous.

“On your knees, Kaku.”

Kaku obeyed, rolling over onto his stomach before canting his hips upward and wiggling his ass enticingly. He looked over toward Lucci and winked.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Lucci flipped him off.

“I’ll gag you if I have to, brat. Can’t you behave when we have company?”

“This ain’t company,” Kaku answered, tilting his head back to watch as Iceburg moved onto his knees behind him and Paulie offered him a condom. “It’s just Paulie and his certified hunk of a husband.” He grinned when Iceburg’s cheeks colored.

That time, Lucci did roll his eyes, and then landed them on Paulie as he tossed him a condom from another, smaller box.

“Shut him up, will you?”

Kaku’s indignant scoff was forced roughly back into his throat by Paulie’s dick, harsh and quick as he desperately chased the high he’d been repeatedly denied.

Kaku moaned as Iceburg’s cock filled him up, trying his best to relax his jaw as he was fucked relentlessly back and forth in a steady rhythm.

Every time Iceburg pushed back in, Kaku’s nose bumped against Paulie’s abdomen, and every time he pulled back, he sucked at the head, bringing Paulie swiftly back to the edge.

“Shit, God, _fuck_ ,” he chanted, breathless and wide-eyed and incredibly turned on as he watched his husband in a position he’d never seen him take. When Iceburg met his eyes, he leaned forward, meeting Paulie halfway over Kaku’s prone form for a sloppy kiss. Paulie groaned, licking eagerly into Iceburg’s mouth as he buried a steadying hand in Kaku’s hair.

Lucci’s hand was back around his cock, fingers moving with quick precision as his gaze darted between his partner’s stretched lips and hole, and the couple making out above him.

Iceburg murmured a fervent “I love you,” against Paulie’s lips amidst heated kisses and the reassurance was enough to let Paulie’s last few inhibitions fall as he jerked fitfully, both hands gripping Kaku’s head as he pulsed deep in the back of his throat.

Kaku pulled back, coughing and sputtering when Paulie began to soften in his mouth and Lucci was on his feet in an instant.

“Kaku, edge of the bed, now.”

Kaku looked defiantly toward Lucci, pushing back onto Iceburg’s dick and letting out a low moan as Iceburg’s rhythm stuttered at the change. When Lucci’s eyes narrowed, Kaku slumped forward and dragged himself toward the edge of the bed, leaving Iceburg a little on edge, but ultimately content to settle beside his husband and continue pressing kisses across his flushed skin.

Lucci pushed his thumb against Kaku’s bottom lip, forcing his jaw back open. The moment his tongue lolled out, Lucci was coming across it, hand shifting to aim the last few streaks across Kaku’s nose and cheeks. 

Kaku swallowed, then parted his lips again as Lucci swept his thumb through the mess and let Kaku suck it clean.

Lucci patted a hand against Kaku’s cheek and then took a moment to undress before sitting up beside Paulie’s splayed out form and watching with a distinct measure of self-satisfaction as Kaku wiped his face clean. After having considerably dirtied the sheets, Kaku eyed the other three men on the bed for a moment before crawling over Paulie and Lucci to get to Iceburg and making himself comfortable in his lap.

Iceburg cocked an eyebrow but didn’t protest, his eyes fluttering shut when Kaku rolled his hips, rubbing his cock against Iceburg’s somewhat flagging erection and making it swell back to full attention. 

“No reason we can’t keep having fun just cause they got off,” he offered, repeating the motion and drawing a low groan out of Iceburg. His hands fell to Kaku’s hips to make his movements a little smoother.

“Mm, fair enough.”

“They look good together don’t they?”

Paulie looked up toward Lucci and then back over to where Kaku had begun to curiously press his fingers across the tattoos on Iceburg’s biceps.

“Yeah.”

He had always thought he would enjoy a night like this, but actually seeing another man draped over Iceburg was so arousing he felt dizzy. His cock twitched when Iceburg groaned again, louder, his back arching off the bed a little to try to increase the friction as Kaku continued to grind against him. 

Lucci lifted a lazy hand to tilt Paulie’s chin back up, leaning in to kiss him as Kaku’s breathing started to catch. Paulie kissed him back, hissing through his teeth as Lucci tore at the skin of his bottom lip, tongue sweeping out to lap up the bead of blood that welled up.

“Kaku’s about to come on your husband’s cock,” Lucci murmured, watching with a thin smile as Paulie’s eyes darkened. “And you’re already getting hard again.”

“I want to fuck him together,” Paulie whispered, flushing at the admission and at Lucci’s answering purr. 

“Good. I want to see him ruined.”

Kaku let out a moan as he came, drawing Paulie and Lucci’s attention again, and when Paulie saw Iceburg’s brow furrow, he reached out and closed his fist around his cock. 

“Do you want to come?” Paulie asked, twisting his wrist when Iceburg nodded and bringing him crashing over the edge with little effort. He continued pumping, each pass growing slick with still dribbling cum. Iceburg squirmed and Kaku weakly climbed across Paulie to slump boneless in Lucci’s lap. 

“Paulie, stop.”

Paulie shook his head, leaning down to whisper hoarsely against Iceburg’s ear. “I want you to come again, with me, in Kaku.”

Iceburg groaned, loud and unreserved, his hips jerking into the continued movement of Paulie’s hand as his cock began to harden again despite the oversensitive twinges of his tired body.

Beside them, Lucci retrieved the lube again, maneuvering Kaku around until he could work a few fingers underneath him to stretch him out further. 

“Can you take two?” Lucci asked, pressing a kiss to Kaku’s temple as he keened. “It’s been a while.”

Kaku nodded, head lolling back against Lucci’s shoulder as his hips worked in tandem to the pumping of Lucci’s long fingers. 

“How about three?”

“Nothing I love more than bein’ filled up by a trio of handsome men,” Kaku quipped. “Sure you won’t miss my hole too much though, Lu?”

Lucci bent over to kiss him. “That’s all you are, Kaku,” he rumbled darkly. “Just a hole to be used. And I’ll get my use out of you, don’t worry.”

His gaze shifted to find Iceburg and Paulie aggressively making out, Iceburg looming over Paulie with his tongue so far down his throat he was practically gagging on it, both of them hard and leaking across each other’s stomachs as they pressed together.

“You can fuck each other at home,” Lucci intoned flatly, successfully separating them. Paulie looked dazed, blinking as if trying to remember where he was, but Iceburg’s gaze flicked instantly toward Kaku.

“Is he prepped enough?”

“You tell me.”

Lucci urged Kaku upward with a swat to his thigh and Kaku was quick to present himself, bending over and spreading his ass wide so that Iceburg had a clear view of his wet, gaping hole. It clenched as he stared at it, beckoning for a dick or two to fill it up, and Iceburg swore lowly as his cock throbbed in answer.

“I promise I can take it,” Kaku said, craning to look over his shoulder. “Won’t be the first time, or the last.”

“You first, Paulie,” Iceburg said after a moment, teeth worrying absently over his bottom lip. As much as he was enjoying this, he’d never been with more than one man at once and it was becoming a little overwhelming, as was the knowledge that his husband wanted him to come inside Kaku, something he hadn’t done to anyone since he was much younger. They had all exchanged medical records after agreeing that this was something they were interested in, so that wasn’t something to worry about, but the intimacy of it had him a little on edge, and Paulie was able to easily sense that.

He settled in Iceburg’s lap, glancing up toward Lucci for a moment and earning a nod and a bit of privacy as he pulled Kaku back toward him and claimed his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Iceburg murmured, finding comfort in the familiar feel of Paulie’s skin beneath his hands as he ran them over his hips and thighs. “I just feel a little out of my depth. Is it okay if I just watch you for a bit and join in when I feel ready?”

“Of course.” Paulie pressed a line of kisses across his bearded jawline, drawing out a low sound of approval. “I love you, Burg. Loved watching you inside Kaku too, but I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to.”

Iceburg nodded and Paulie got off of him after one more kiss, letting him settle against the headboard as he moved toward Kaku.

“Ready?” Lucci asked, putting the finishing touches on a deep red bruise over Kaku’s Adam’s apple before handing him over at Paulie’s answering nod. 

Anticipating Iceburg’s inclusion at some point, Paulie lay back flat on the bed, his broad shoulders pressed to Lucci’s thigh on one side and Iceburg’s chest on the other. When Kaku sank down onto his dick he cursed softly, surrounded completely by all three of the other men in the room and feeling all the more delightfully frazzled for it. 

Lucci and Iceburg made eye contact as Kaku dug his nails into Paulie’s thighs for a little traction and then leaned down in unison, Lucci laving his tongue over one of Paulie’s nipples as Iceburg began to nip at the line of freckles across his collarbone. 

Paulie moaned throatily, his body contorting in a strange arch as he tried to press into all three sensations at once, a whine pushing past his lips when he couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Please,” he whimpered, at no one in particular, his green eyes a little watery at the sudden overstimulation as his gaze tracked from Lucci to Kaku to Iceburg. _“Please.”_

Iceburg placed a soft kiss at the sensitive juncture of his neck and shoulder, reveling in Paulie’s swallowed gasp and the little moan that followed as Kaku swiveled his hips. Rising up, he moved to sit behind Kaku, earning a hooded glance over the younger man’s shoulder before he returned his attention to Paulie. 

Iceburg smoothed a hand across Kaku’s spine, coaxing it into a sharp arch before working two fingers in alongside Paulie’s cock. Paulie let out a loud cry at the sudden added friction, hips beginning to buck upward as Iceburg marveled at how easily Kaku’s hole took the additional stretch. 

Lucci caught another condom between two of his fingers, then dropped it back down when Iceburg shook his head, looking pleased by the decision.

Withdrawing his fingers and coating his cock with lube, Iceburg moved up to his knees, positioning himself as Kaku scooted forward a little. A harsh breath huffed from his flared nostrils as he began to slide in, his gut twisting pleasantly at just how tight of a fit it was. 

“Oh, fuck, Burg, you feel so good.” Paulie was all but writhing in the sheets, long hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead with sweat and his eyes glazed over. “Christ.”

Kaku couldn’t even manage so much as a groan, his jaw hanging slack as Iceburg and Paulie began to move together, the new angle rubbing Iceburg’s cock against his prostate with every stroke. 

“You look good when you’re fucked dumb,” Lucci mused, catching Kaku’s chin in his grip and slipping his tongue between his parted lips. He pulled back, teeth catching on Kaku’s long nose and earning a flush across his cheeks. “This isn’t too much for you is it?” Lucci taunted, grinning when Kaku immediately shook his head. “Good.”

Lucci moved to straddle Paulie’s shoulders, one hand splaying over Kaku’s throat as the other buried in his hair. He used both to draw him forward, watching as his cock disappeared between his lips, tongue lapping over his balls as he forced Kaku all the way down on the first stroke.

When the hand over his neck tightened, Kaku shuddered, bringing his trembling fingers in a weak pass over Paulie’s wrist and somehow, thank God, managing to urge one of his hands upward. The second Paulie had his fingers around Kaku’s cock it was throbbing in his grip. 

The warm splash of cum across his stomach made Paulie jerk upward, which made Iceburg slam unthinkingly deeper, forcing Kaku forward enough for him to gag on Lucci’s dick and making him spasm between the heavy press of three larger bodies against his own. His eyes were rolled back so far into his skull he would have been worried about them getting stuck if he’d had enough brain power to think about anything at all except the way he was being filled to the brim and fucked roughly through one of the strongest orgasms of his life.

When Kaku’s muffled moans began to mix with wet gagging sounds, Lucci pulled back to give him a momentary reprieve, eyes flicking down toward Paulie as his head lolled to rest against his calf. 

“Can I kiss him?”

“Burg?” Paulie asked breathlessly. When Lucci nodded, a shudder wracked Paulie’s frame, his lips parting in a needy keen at the mere thought. “If he’s okay with it.”

Lucci’s gaze rose to lock with Iceburg’s who, having witnessed his husband’s reaction the idea, nodded without hesitation.

They met above Kaku’s still trembling frame, kissing roughly in a fight for dominance that neither of them was quite able to win. Iceburg sucked Lucci’s tongue into his mouth, making the younger man’s hips buck, cock slapping unceremoniously against Kaku’s face as he whined fitfully. 

Paulie’s pace grew frantic as he craned his neck to watch, hands anchoring to Kaku’s hips as he ragdolled him up and down, the friction of Iceburg’s dick across the head of his cock maddening and addicting, only punctuated by the weak clenching of Kaku’s hole as he was continuously overstimulated. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Paulie gasped. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” Iceburg and Lucci answered in unison, panting against each other’s swollen, spit-slick lips as they paused briefly to glance downward. 

Their combined stare sent Paulie hurtling toward his climax, pumping Kaku full of cum as Iceburg’s hips continued to rock. Trying to get the most out of Paulie’s cock before it could soften and slip free, Iceburg pounded ruthlessly into the tight space of Kaku’s stuffed hole, coming just a moment after Paulie, lips mashed to Lucci’s as he spilled into his partner’s already leaking ass. 

For a minute there was just silence and the sound of heavy panting, Kaku sandwiched between the sweaty press of Paulie and Iceburg’s bodies as Lucci shifted back against the pillows to allow them all a moment to recover. 

Iceburg was the first to move, rolling off of Kaku with a sigh and then making his way to the adjoining bathroom on shaky legs. He came back with a glass of water and a damp washcloth, returning to recline beside a nearly comatose Paulie as Lucci easily lifted Kaku back into the circle of his bent legs. 

“How do you want me to come?” Lucci asked, fingers playing over the bruises on Kaku’s neck and shoulders, pressing just enough to make him feel the resulting ache. 

“In my ass,” Kaku mumbled, eyelashes fluttering as he looked up at Lucci with a hooded, coquettish stare.

“You’re insatiable,” Lucci answered, sounding entirely thrilled by that fact, and earning a coy shrug of Kaku’s slumped shoulders. 

He manhandled Kaku up onto his cock, hands hooking underneath his thighs to bounce him up and down as he reclined back against his chest. Every stroke produced a wet, slurping sound, cum slipping from the loose stretch of Kaku’s hole and running in a thin rivulet across Lucci’s balls before pooling on the already damp sheets. 

“Your ass isn’t already full enough?” Lucci asked, nipping at Kaku’s ear. “Listen to it.”

“I know how much you love screwin’ sloppy seconds,” Kaku replied teasingly, earning a low growl against his throat. 

“Not as much as you love being someone’s.”

Before Kaku could have the chance to give Lucci any more lip, he started thrusting up into the bouncing of Kaku’s limp body. Deciding to behave, Kaku just craned his head around to kiss him, messily licking up Iceburg’s spit from Lucci’s lips as Lucci came with a low groan.

Another long silence fell over the room, everyone sated and content to just spend a moment relaxing. 

In the end, Kaku was the one who moved first, crawling off of Lucci’s lap and sliding his feet to the floor with a loud slap against the hardwood. Everyone’s attention gained, he bent down in an entirely self-aware stretch, curling his fingers around his toes as Lucci, Iceburg, and Paulie all stared at the mess of their cum smeared across his back of his thighs. 

“Well,” he began, casting a smugly cheery grin over his shoulder. “I’m always up for more in a bit, but first…” He started toward the doorway, hips swaying in an enticing arc.

“I’m ordering a pizza.”


	19. Formalwear (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a lot dirtier than it ended up being, but I didn’t feel like fighting it and making it seem forced, so here’s a lot of flirting and banter and talk about things that I didn’t actually end up writing.

Bartolomeo cast another frustrated, futile glance at the stupidly expensive watch on his wrist, taking the stairs up to the building two at a time in an attempt to shorten the last few seconds of his already late arrival. The doorman recognized him, thank God, and just waved him in before he could even start to fumble around for his wallet. 

Shoving open the door with one shoulder and crossing the lobby in a few long strides, he pushed his way into the exhibit hall, greeted immediately by the sound of Cavendish’s voice through the microphone on stage. 

“…and although he might not have had as direct a part to play in earning me this particular accolade, I also have to thank my husband, Bartolomeo, for at least keeping me sane throughout the process.”

Barto’s eyes adjusted to the sharp contrast of the spotlight onstage in the darkness of the room, his ragged breath catching further. _Fuck_ , he had actually married the hottest man in the world. Cavendish wore a lot of very attractive things, by virtue of his profession, but it was rare to actually see him in a full suit. It was impeccably tailored, of course, the vest and jacket buttoned tight against the dip of his waist, the pants just skimming the length of his impossibly long legs, the tie at his throat finished with a precise version of the very messy attempt at an Eldredge beneath Bartolomeo’s own collar.

The prospect of spending the next two hours on Cavendish’s arm without being able to touch him suddenly felt a lot, well, harder. 

“Oh, there he is. Right on time. Give a little wave, Barto.”

Bartolomeo raised one hand, the other buried deep in his pocket, and when heads and cameras alike turned in his direction, he offered a crooked smile.

“All that to say,” Cavendish finished. “I’m honored to accept this award, and thank you again.”

Bartolomeo made his way along the wall to meet him as he stepped off the stage amidst a round of applause. His arm curled around Cavendish’s waist and Cavendish leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek as a flash went off to their left. 

“Hey, sorry I’m so late, Cabbage. Traffic was terrible.”

“You’re fine. We knew you would be,” Cavendish answered, already working his deft fingers through the sloppy knot of Bartolomeo’s tie and beginning to fix it for him. 

“And sorry ‘bout the tie.”

“Mm. I was honestly expecting you to walk in with it in your back pocket, so, I appreciate the effort.” He finished with a light pat to the now impressive knot. “You look very nice.” Cavendish smoothed his hands down the lapels of Bartolomeo’s suit jacket and then gave him an expression of mock intrigue. “Barto, darling, who on earth are you wearing?”

“Criminal, from head to toe,” Bartolomeo replied, as practiced, with a rolling gesture from his suit to his shoes. “With the exception of this piece from Log Pose’s newest collection.” He tapped the watch on his wrist with a dramatic wink and Cavendish snorted before letting out a long sigh. 

“I’m not ready for the rest of tonight.”

“Oh, me either, Cabbage. But uh…I meant to ask, how much was your suit?”

“Exceedingly expensive,” Cavendish answered. “And yours was even more, because,” He gestured vaguely at Bartolomeo’s larger frame. “More fabric. Why?”

Bartolomeo cast a discreet look around to make sure no one else was in earshot before bending down and whispering against Cavendish’s ear. “Cause I wanna absolutely ruin it. Ya look sexy as fuck.”

“Oh.” Cavendish’s eyes were hooded when Bartolomeo pulled back. “Maybe I _am_ ready for the rest of tonight.” When Barto grinned he rocked up onto his toes to kiss him. “Wait until we’re home and I’ll let you do whatever you want to it.”

“I’m gonna hold ya to that.”

“Please do.”

The next two hours seemed to drag. There was a never-ending line of reporters and journalists and photographers eager to talk to them and get their picture, and each brief reprieve when Suleiman managed to sneak them a new glass or a plate of food only lasted long enough to make them wish for the next one.

Bartolomeo was mostly zoned out, delivering his scripted line when he was prompted, and earning a laugh every time. But every laugh was followed by a kiss from Cavendish, and every time he leaned up against his side, he made sure to brush against him with his fingertips or the swell of his hip. It would have been distracting at any time, but it was doubly so when Cavendish looked so goddamn hot, and smugly aware of it.

A rare opportunity fell when it reached the point in the evening that people were having to excuse themselves to the restrooms and Bartolomeo successfully managed to corral Cavendish toward one of the darker corners of the room.

“What are you doing, Barto?” he demanded, eyes shifting to make sure no one was paying them any attention.

“What does it look like?” Barto murmured in reply, bending down to press his mouth against Cavendish’s slightly parted lips. “I’m kissin' you, _tesorino_.”

Cavendish jerked back, looking utterly betrayed as his breath stuttered out around a completely involuntary little moan. “That’s not fair.”

His voice was entirely too breathy for a few fairly light kisses and Bartolomeo feigned innocence as he grinned into the curve of Cavendish’s neck, hands stroking over the soft fabric of his vest where it pulled in at the waist. 

“What’s not fair?”

“You know I get horny when you speak Italian.”

Bartolomeo laughed. He shifted to slide one of his thighs between Cavendish’s and was smugly satisfied when Cavendish bucked unthinkingly into the contact. 

“That’s not my fault is it, _caro mio_?”

“We _can’t_ fuck here, Bartolomeo,” Cavendish whined, looking very pitifully disappointed about that particular fact, but unrelenting nonetheless.

“Why not?” Barto dragged his teeth across Cavendish’s jaw as his husband squirmed against the friction of his thigh. “I’m not above gettin’ railed over a toilet.”

Cavendish moaned, yanking Bartolomeo down into a messy kiss in an attempt to muffle the sound. His resolve was crumbling, swiftly, and Barto murmured against his lips. 

“You’re the one who’s been rubbing all over me for an hour or more. I had to tuck up into my waistband so that I didn’t have a visible hard-on in every single picture that’s being taken of us.”

“I didn’t mean to tease,” Cavendish said with a pout.

Bartolomeo snorted. “Bullshit.”

Cavendish’s expression was just smug enough to confirm exactly how intentional he had been about every brief contact, but before Barto could call him out on it, someone cleared their throat directly next to them.

Hastily pushing Bartolomeo off of him, Cavendish straightened his jacket and then relaxed slightly when he realized who had caught them. Not that Suleiman was any happier than anyone else would have been about the discovery.

“Stop making out and get back to your job,” his manager griped, looking wholly unamused. “Morgans just showed up and you have thirty seconds before I tell him you’re ‘railing your husband over a toilet’ at your own awards ceremony and let him go wild with the tabloids.”

Both men scrambled toward the center of the room where Morgans was standing, earning a look of surprise at how eager they seemed to be to talk to him. 

Once they were finished answering his questions, they were down to half an hour before they were allowed to leave, but each minute seemed longer than the last, both of them now thoroughly preoccupied by thoughts of exactly what they were intending to do when they got home.

Their weak attempts at distraction amounted to little more than draining one glass of champagne after another so by the time they finally stumbled out toward the limo that someone had hired for them, they were more than a little tipsy. 

The second they tumbled onto the seats they were on top of each other, Cavendish making quick work of Bartolomeo’s vest and then just tearing at Bartolomeo’s shirt and sending buttons flying as he grabbed a handful of his bare chest. 

“Fuck—fuck me, baby,” Barto gasped, bucking up as Cavendish straddled his hips and making a weak attempt at his belt buckle. 

“Not in the car, Barto,” Cavendish chastised, slapping his hands away and grinding against the upward press of his erection.

Bartolomeo’s lips turned down in a frown, hands moving to cup Cavendish’s ass instead. His eyes blew wide the moment they made contact. 

“Are you wearing anything under these?”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Coccia,” Cavendish whispered. “I. Am. Not.”

He punctuated each word with a nip to one of Bartolomeo’s ears and Barto let out a moan loud enough that it was definitely heard through the barrier to the front seat. Cavendish heard the radio turn up just a little bit louder, grinning at the flush that rose to Bartolomeo’s cheeks.

“Fuck me and then…I’ll fuck you?” Barto offered, more than a little desperate. Cavendish still looked so put together, handsome and fully aware of it, and it was just making Bartolomeo feel more unraveled than he already was.

Cavendish laughed. “Sure. We can fuck all night, baby boy, I’m not tired.”

Bartolomeo keened, at the suggestion or the name, Cavendish wasn’t quite sure, but either way, he loved reducing his husband to a writhing, begging mess, and Barto was already halfway there.

The limo rolled to a stop and Bartolomeo all but barreled toward the front door as Cavendish stopped to give the driver a hefty and somewhat apologetic tip.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Cavendish said with a laugh as he crossed the threshold, only to be cut off when Bartolomeo hooked an arm around his waist and tossed him over the arm of the couch. His cock jumped at the casual display of strength and he couldn’t quite hold back a moan as Barto pressed his head down into the cushions.

“Jesus Christ, Bartolomeo.”

“Sorry,” Barto answered, plastering himself to Cavendish’s back and grinding into the curve of his ass, the contact made better by the lack of one extra layer between them. “Never been so horny in my life.”

“That’s just not true,” Cavendish said idly, voice a little muffled by Bartolomeo’s hand against his cheek. “We fucked in a port-a-potty once. And on my parents’ dining room table when they left for like six minutes to go get another bottle of wine.”

“Oh, yeah.” Barto spread his legs a little wider and braced his free hand against the back of the couch to get a better angle. “That why your mom still hates me?”

“No, that’s because she’s a selfish, narrow-minded judgmental bitch who cares more about the status boost she gets from being my mother than any of my own feelings.” Cavendish gasped when Bartolomeo found a good rhythm and began to rock in earnest against the cleft of his ass. “But maybe also a little because you banged her only child on her vintage mahogany dining table, yes.”

Bartolomeo managed a chuckle, breathless as it was, and then fell to grunts and harried swearing as the friction of Cavendish’s barely clothed ass began to rub just the right way over the head of his cock. He straightened up just enough to get a good look at Cavendish as he continued to move against him. The dark blue of his suit was striking against his pale skin and the high ponytail that bound his golden curls, the tailored cut of his slacks molded perfectly to the soft, round curve of his ass.

“Fuck, _baby_...”

“Mm?”

With the way he was bent, Cavendish couldn’t so much as grind against the couch cushions, forced to just feel the damp spot at the front of his trousers growing with every increasingly aggressive grind of Bartolomeo’s hips. 

“Ya look so good,” Barto answered. “Feel even better.” He gripped the back of the couch hard enough to leave an imprint, uttering a long, drawn out groan, and a moment later Cavendish felt his hips stutter and then falter. The pressure of his hand weakened and Cavendish craned his neck to look back at his husband. 

“Barto, did you just…”

“Come in my pants?” Bartolomeo responded breathlessly, flushed but unashamed. “Uh huh.”

“God, that’s hot,” Cavendish mumbled, his alcohol muddled brain spinning fruitlessly. “Why is that so hot? Are you too drunk to get hard again?”

When Cavendish pushed his ass back Bartolomeo shook his head, decisively. “Definitely not.”

“Okay good.” Cavendish wiggled enough to get a little friction against the arm of the couch and then let out a loud moan. “You wanted to ruin this suit, didn’t you?”

Bartolomeo’s head bobbed. “Got somethin’ in mind?”

Cavendish slapped a hand against Bartolomeo’s hip until he moved enough for Cavendish to get up. He turned around, sitting back down on the arm of the couch and hooking his legs around Bartolomeo’s waist to pull him forward again.

“We’re going to go to the bedroom, I’m going to absolutely blow your mind…” Bartolomeo’s eyes darkened and Cavendish was just drunk enough to feel the need to cheekily add. “And your dick, and then when you’re almost there, I want you to pull out and come all over it.”

“The suit?”

Cavendish nodded and Bartolomeo grinned. “Sure. Wanna watch ya come too though, so…” He bent down and tugged Cavendish into a sloppy kiss. “First, can ya fuck me so hard I can’t even remember my own name? With all of it still on. But maybe…” He cocked his head and ran a hand over one of Cavendish’s lapels. “Maybe roll up the sleeves? And undo a couple buttons? That’d be sexy.”

Cavendish pulled him down into another kiss by his tie, nodding fervently. “Yeah. Yeah. Alright. Fuck, I love you so much, Bartolomeo.”

“I love you so much too, Cavendish. But stop talkin’ about it and fuck me already. I want your cock in my ass like, yesterday, babe.”

Cavendish huffed out a laugh, dragging Bartolomeo after him as they made their very uncoordinated and distracted way to their bedroom for a night that resulted in two incredibly sore asses, zero regrets, and one very sheepish visit to their dry cleaner.


	20. Sensory Deprivation (Coby/Helmeppo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore me playing fast and loose with the way haki works to serve as a means to my smutty ends and just enjoy these very awkward and inexperienced boys trying to deal with a lot of different feelings

Helmeppo was carefully cleaning and sharpening his second kukri when he heard a hiss from the other side of the room. He saw Coby wince in his periphery, but though he slowed the movement of his hand over the blade, he didn’t stop until Coby made another little sound of pain.

“Coby, what’s wrong?”

The younger man looked up, flushing, his expression guilt-ridden until he saw the concern in Helmeppo’s stare.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I can’t focus. Another unit just came back and I keep getting…I keep feeling…pain. There are so many in the infirmary. I can’t keep them out of my head.”

He ineffectually thumped his hands against his temples and let out a sound of distress. 

Helmeppo sat in silence for a moment before rising and moving over to sit on the edge of Coby’s bed. “You should try to rest then.”

“How?” Coby sounded miserable and it made Helmeppo feel almost as bad. He slipped off his glasses to rub away the tears welling in his eyes and when they blinked back open there was a flicker of relief in them. 

“Oh. It’s a little better without my glasses. Less…stimulus, maybe?” he mused. He settled his glasses onto the table and uttered a sigh of such satisfaction that Helmeppo felt a shameful clench in the pit of his stomach. 

He looked down at Coby and an idea came to him—a not entirely unselfish one.

“Coby, can I—can we try something? I think it might help your head and I could—I could try to make you feel good.”

Coby squinted up at him, cheeks coloring a little. Helmeppo had been honing the art of making Coby feel good since the time they had gotten drunk together after their first promotion and ended up making out in Coby’s bed. Things had progressed since then, and though it wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time they acted on their mutual attraction, it was still a nebulous enough thing to fluster them both.

“Sure, Meppo,” Coby answered, his blush deepening. “I trust you.”

And he did, but he still wasn’t expecting the gentle brush of Helmeppo’s fingers at his hairline as he slid his bandana down and tightened the knot at the back to keep it secured across his eyes. Coby blinked owlishly behind the fabric, suddenly completely blind and a little panicked as he reached out and grabbed onto Helmeppo’s arm.

“H-Helmeppo, what are you doing?”

He pried Coby’s fingers from his forearm and spoke calmly from above him. “Relax. Trust me.”

Coby nodded, swallowed down the lump in his throat, and once he began to calm his instincts took over, providing the familiar warmth of Helmeppo’s aura as he moved onto his knees in front of him.

Helmeppo tutted and brought up a finger to smooth the wrinkles that furrowed Coby’s brow.

“Stop that. Don’t think I can’t tell what it looks like when you’re focusing. Just let it go. Don’t try to see anything, just feel, okay?”

Coby nodded, feeling chagrined, and let himself fall back into darkness. A moment later, Helmeppo’s hands were at his ears, carefully fitting in the plugs he wore to drown out his friend’s snoring when he slept.

Another wave of panic welled up inside of Coby as another one of his senses was removed, but then he felt the brush of Helmeppo’s lips across the scar on his forehead. It was a warm and familiar gesture, and he felt himself begin to warm with arousal when Helmeppo moved lower to kiss his lips. 

It wasn’t until Helmeppo pulled away again that Coby realized he could only barely sense the waves of fear and pain from the infirmary. With his mind forced to focus on perceiving what little he could of his immediate surroundings, there wasn’t room to let them in.

He felt Helmeppo’s weight leave the bed and when it returned a moment later, his hands found Coby’s wrists. His fingertips just rested there for a moment, allowing Coby to adjust before he began to draw them back, pulling the neckerchief from Coby’s throat and using it to bind his hands to the bedframe. 

He watched diligently as Coby squirmed, looking for signs that he had gone too far, waiting to see if he would use the safe word they’d established after that first time when Coby had spent every half a thrust asking Helmeppo if he was okay until the older man had snapped impatiently that if he wasn’t, Coby would have heard about it.

“It’s working,” Coby whispered. “Helmeppo, it’s working.”

His voice was filled with awe and relief and when a stuttered little gasp parted the syllables of his name, Helmeppo groaned. 

When he’d shifted to deprive Coby of his ability to touch, one of Helmeppo’s knees had slotted between Coby’s spread thighs, and Coby had begun to slowly grind against it, his breathing growing labored and his face flushing around the blindfold. 

Helmeppo let him continue for a little bit, willing to admit that that sign of desperation from Coby was more than a little arousing. He bent down to kiss him again and the moan that Coby released at the contact sounded absolutely sinful. 

“Touch me, Meppo.”

With the earplugs in, he talked too loudly for the small room. What would usually be a stammered request any other time they fooled around sounded like an order and it was embarrassing how quickly Helmeppo snapped to attention.

He pressed his palm to the bulge in Coby’s slacks, earning a high keen of approval. 

“Oh, God.” Coby’s voice had fallen back down to a mumble, and Helmeppo wondered if he even knew he’d spoken. 

With shaky fingers he began to unfasten Coby’s pants, working them down to his ankles when Coby helpfully lifted his hips. Once Coby was settled again he ran his hands up the trembling muscles of Coby’s thighs to let him know where he was moving. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Helmeppo whispered, comforted by the knowledge that Coby couldn’t hear his confessions. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Coby whimpered, muscles taut with anticipation as he felt Helmeppo’s warm breath fan across his erection. He thought he might be talking, and wondered what words were being spoken beyond his senses. 

When Helmeppo’s tongue licked a long stripe up the underside of Coby’s cock his hips bucked. He cried out when his lips suctioned around the tip, once again too loud in the silence of the room, and although it was music to Helmeppo’s ears, he reached up to place a finger against Coby’s parted lips. 

Coby’s blush deepened considerably. 

Helmeppo slowly sank down, sucking when he got halfway and then licking back up along underneath the swollen head as he returned to the tip. Coby was practically quivering beneath him, biting hard into his bottom lip to muffle his moans, hard enough for red to well up beneath the barely visible line of his teeth. 

Sinking down again, Helmeppo stretched just a tiny bit further. He moved one of his hands to lay flat against Coby’s abdomen, feeling the contractions of his stomach with every additional inch. The other was still anchored to his thigh, keeping him spread wide, forcing him to ignore the instinct he had to slam his legs together and cover his face with his hands. 

Helmeppo’s throat seized when he tried to force himself further, gagging harshly as he pulled back with a not insignificant surge of disappointment. Coby just gasped raggedly, his hips making tiny, stuttered attempts to move beneath Helmeppo’s grip, trying in vain to return to the warm, wet suction of his mouth. He wished that he could tangle his fingers in Helmeppo's hair, let it loose and use it to pull him back, but even so, Coby couldn't quite hate the way the fabric brushed over his wrists with every futile attempt, or the burn beginning to settle in the muscles of his arms from their slight stretch. 

Wrapping his hand around the base of Coby's shaft where he couldn’t quite reach, Helmeppo took a second to rest his jaw, just pumping his fingers across the soft skin, slick with his own spit, drawing a moan out of Coby that he couldn’t quite catch in time.

Coby couldn’t hear the sounds escaping from his throat, but he could feel them, vibrating past his lips, unbidden. He felt a little bit like he was drowning, so encompassed in darkness and silence that he could practically hear the thrumming of his heartbeat, pounding in his chest and throbbing in the warmth of Helmeppo’s mouth. 

Had Helmeppo always been _so good_ at this? He didn’t know, or care, really, just so long as he kept at it. Coby’s mind was pleasantly blank, his body awash with pleasure he couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so all-consuming. He was so caught up in the faint sensation of Helmeppo’s fingers and the tiny prick of his nails in the flesh of his thigh that it took a moment for him to realize that the spit on his cock was cooling in the open air. When he shivered, he could fully imagine the sound of the whimper he knew passed his lips.

“Helmeppo?” his tone was broken, a little lost, just close enough to the edge of desperation that it made Helmeppo shift uncomfortably in an effort to decrease the pressure within his trousers. 

He returned before Coby could get up the nerve to start pleading, lips meeting the loose grip of his fist and then working in tandem along Coby’s cock in a way that made him writhe against the sheets. In a surprising, unconscious display of strength, Coby forced off the grip of Helmeppo’s hand against his thigh, legs slamming together to keep his head in place, thighs squeezing against the sides of his skull with a pressure that was so unexpectedly pleasant Helmeppo felt his head swim.

He continued bobbing, tasting pre-cum against his tongue when he swept through the slit, salty and damp. 

“Oh…” Coby whimpered, and when Helmeppo’s eyes flicked upward, he saw Coby’s cheeks flush red. “Damn.” It wasn’t a particularly harsh swear, but he looked embarrassed to have used it, and his blush deepened considerably when he _felt_ Helmeppo laugh around his dick.

“Shut up,” he murmured, too soft and fond to sound truly annoyed. Helmeppo just kept sucking.

By the time an uncomfortable ache was beginning to settle at the edges of Helmeppo’s jaw, Coby was starting to fall apart, his legs squeezing tighter, his muscles fluttering beneath Helmeppo’s palm with even the lightest strokes of his hand and tongue. 

“H— _hnnh_ —” he attempted, weakly, before his lips parted around a sharp cry and forced the word out. “Helmeppo! I’m…I…”

Coby felt the flaming heat of his cheeks, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat. _‘I’m close,’_ because God, he _was_ , but just admitting it like that was mortifying. Every time he voiced his pleasure in these moments with Helmeppo, he was certain that Helmeppo would hear the truth behind his words; that instead of gasping out, ‘I’m close,’ he would say something like ‘you’re perfect,’ or ‘I love you,’ and he would ruin whatever tenuous bond they had managed to forge.

Oblivious to Coby’s internal turmoil, but experiencing a bit of it himself, Helmeppo made a final headstrong effort, shifting his hand down to roll Coby’s balls over his fingertips, surging forward to take the abandoned base of his shaft into his throat as it tried to revolt. The combination had Coby’s eyes rolling back behind the blindfold, his hips stuttering upward as he spilled down Helmeppo’s throat with a moan that almost certainly wasn’t contained by the walls of their room.

Helmeppo pulled back the moment he slumped into the mattress, glad that Coby couldn’t see or hear him coughing up cum into his palm with red, watery eyes. He would still have to keep practicing, evidently, but fuck if having Coby that deep when he came wasn’t at least a little worth the embarrassing aftermath. 

Once he’d managed to clean himself up a little, Helmeppo returned to Coby’s side, watching as he smiled dazedly at the telling dip of the mattress. He untied his hands first, then removed the earplugs, and then the blindfold. Coby lay still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the room through the thin layer of his eyelids before allowing them to flutter open. 

“I feel a lot better,” he said quietly, flushing a pretty shade of pink to match his sweaty, disheveled hairline as he looked up at Helmeppo. Neither of them could maintain eye contact for long, so Helmeppo settled for staring at Coby’s red, bite-swollen lips, and Coby’s gaze canted downwards toward the bulge in Helmeppo’s pants. 

“Do you want me to…” He brushed a hand over it, but Helmeppo caught his wrist before he could draw out anything more than a stuttered breath.

“No, I just wanted to help you out.”

Coby nodded, looking shy and beautiful as he stole a glance up at Helmeppo from beneath his eyelashes. Helmeppo felt his heart give an unsteady lurch.

“You’re a good helper, Helmeppo.”

Helmeppo flushed a little, bringing a hand up to rub across the back of his neck as he shrugged aside the praise. “Probably all the chores we used to do,” he deflected, making Coby laugh. 

“Probably.”

A moment of silence passed between them, toeing the line between comfortable and awkward, and when Helmeppo’s gaze drifted to take in Coby’s disheveled appearance again and belatedly realized he was still very naked from the waist down, he stood hastily and returned to his side of the room, ignoring the twinge from his trousers. 

He heard Coby shuffling around, presumably righting his appearance, and when Coby spoke up again, he didn’t look up from the smooth shine of the blade across his lap. 

“Helmeppo?”

“Hm?”

“Um, thank you.”

He knew Coby was blushing, even before he tilted his kukri to get a glimpse of his reflection across its surface, and he bit back a smile as he replied. 

“Sure. Anytime.”


	21. Master/Slave (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where much credit is due to TR33G1RL whose wonderful stories have ensured that Master Cavendish lives rent free in my head

“Bartolomeo?”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to call me Master.”

There was no command in his voice as he said it. His tone was soft, almost contemplative, and he didn’t pause the gentle press of his lips. 

They weren’t even really making out yet, just lying together in their bed, a tangle of limbs beneath the sheets as they exchanged many, but entirely chaste kisses. Those words were proof that Cavendish knew exactly where he wanted this to go, however, and it made Bartolomeo a little bolder.

“Well then, I wanna fuck you, Master.”

It was the first time they’d ever strayed from their tried and true ‘sir,’ and Bartolomeo watched Cavendish’s gaze darken at the new address.

“Mmm.” He hummed softly, nails teasing along Bartolomeo’s scalp, but when he whispered against his lips, his kiss was just as sweet. “I don’t care what you want.”

Cavendish was still being gentle, _so_ gentle, but Bartolomeo felt a rush of heat at the sentiment nonetheless. He liked it when Cavendish made it clear that he didn’t matter. Not out of any particular desire for personal humiliation, though he didn’t mind that, but more so because he loved it when Cavendish made himself the only thing that mattered. He deserved all the focus, all the praise, and Bartolomeo liked giving it to him even more than usual when it was at his explicit command. 

“I’ll be your slave then,” Bartolomeo offered, his voice lower, rougher, the press of his growing erection more insistent against the warmth of Cavendish’s thigh. “Just tell me what you need, Master.”

“My slave?” Cavendish echoed. He seemed to think about it for a moment, absently licking his lips as they hovered just above Bartolomeo’s mouth. “Mmm. Alright, Bartolomeo.” But when he closed that distance again, the kiss warmer, made wetter by the sweep of his tongue, it was just as soft and slow.

It only took two more kisses before Bartolomeo moved to grip Cavendish’s hips, his brow furrowing. “What—what do ya need me to do…Master?” He didn’t _like_ being impatient, but he was already hurtling headlong into the role Cavendish had given him and he knew that he could do so much more to please his Master.

“I need you to stop asking pointless questions and kiss me.”

Bartolomeo brought one hand to Cavendish’s jaw, successfully causing his lips to part as he tilted his head and moved in for a much deeper kiss. Before he could get very far, Cavendish pulled back. His gaze was stern and unyielding. 

“Did I tell you that you could kiss me like that?”

“N-no?” The gentler kisses had been nice when they had both been relaxed, but now Cavendish had started this scene, and Bartolomeo was already hard, and he _needed_ to be able to make Cavendish feel good, if only his Master would let him do what he knew they both liked. Cavendish raised an eyebrow and he repeated it, more firmly than before. “No, Master, you didn’t.”

“You aren’t a very good slave, are you?” Cavendish mused. “Can’t even follow simple commands.” When Barto whimpered, Cavendish’s lips quirked into a faint smile. 

“Stand up for me.”

Bartolomeo scrambled off of the bed and onto his feet, moving when Cavendish gestured for him to stand at the end of it. 

His eyes made a slow pass across Bartolomeo’s large frame. He was shaking a little, but doing his best to try and hide it, hands clenched into fists at his sides and jaw tight. There was a visible tent at the front of his boxers and when Cavendish’s gaze lingered there, Bartolomeo bit back a whine. 

“Take them off.”

Bartolomeo obeyed, watching with wide, dark eyes as Cavendish moved down the bed toward him. He stretched one leg outward, toes bumping up under the head of Bartolomeo’s cock, earning a gasp, and then pressing until his dick was stiff and twitching between his stomach and the sole of Cavendish’s foot. 

“Just a few kisses and you’re already throbbing against my foot. Greedy slave, aren’t you?”

Bartolomeo’s brow furrowed and he eventually opted for shaking his head. “Don’t need to feel good,” he mumbled, pupils blown wide beneath the bashful fan of his lashes. “Just need to make Master feel good.”

“Of course you do,” Cavendish crooned, curling his toes and making Bartolomeo squirm fitfully. “That’s what you were made for.”

Bartolomeo’s head bobbed readily in agreement. He breathed a sigh of relief when Cavendish pulled back, the pressure easing off of his aching cock as his partner shifted to his knees and began to trail his fingertips across his chest. 

“Such a strong slave,” Cavendish murmured. His nails scratched down along Bartolomeo’s abdomen, leaving faint trails in their wake, and he wrapped his hand loosely around his straining erection as he cast a glance up toward Bartolomeo’s face. “With such a big cock.”

Cavendish grinned as Bartolomeo blushed. Adorable.

“Your Master wants it inside of him.”

Cavendish slid off the bed, making Bartolomeo stumble back a few steps as he blinked in surprise. 

When he made no move toward the bedside table, Bartolomeo’s gaze flicked toward it, and he let a short, stuttered question into the air between them. 

“L-lube, Master? Do ya want me to get it?”

Cavendish’s grin sharpened. He leaned up and gave Bartolomeo another soft, sweet kiss.

“I don’t think you’ll need it.”

Bartolomeo's brow furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. “No?”

Cavendish shook his head. When the implication of his words settled, Bartolomeo’s eyes shuttered. 

“Sh-show me, Master? Please?”

Bartolomeo dropped to his knees as Cavendish bent smoothly over the edge of the bed and pressed his slender fingers into the flesh of his ass. The plug was dark against his pale skin and the flushed pink of his rim, already stretched in anticipation and ready to be filled.

After receiving a nod of permission, Bartolomeo slid it free, gaze tethered to the wet shine across the dark plastic. He watched as a thin trail of semen began to leak out, swearing softly. Bending forward, he flattened his tongue against the lower curve of Cavendish’s spine, tasting sweat and that sweet flavor that always clung to his skin. 

“You’re fuckin’ filthy…” Cavendish considered chastising him for the slip, but he said it in such a broken, adoring tone that he opted to let it slide, and was justified when Bartolomeo finished in a low groan. “Master.”

His tongue slid lower, cleaning the soft juncture where Cavendish’s thigh met the curve of his ass. 

“ _I’m_ filthy?” Cavendish echoed. He turned his head to fix Bartolomeo with a dark, hooded stare. “You’re the one on your knees licking your own cum out of my ass.”

“Tastes good,” Bartolomeo answered, blunt and unashamed. “Tastes like _us_.”

Cavendish felt a shudder wrack his body, jolting him back into the wet sweep of Barto’s tongue and forcing a moan from his chest. 

“Get off your knees and fuck me.”

“Yes, Master.”

He slid fully inside in one smooth movement, Cavendish’s slick, cum-filled hole sucking him in without resistance. God, it was so fucking _wet_.

“Ya feel so good, Master. Th-thank you.”

Bartolomeo dropped down, pressing his chest tight against Cavendish’s back as he braced his hands on the bed and began a pace so slow it was almost painful. Cavendish felt every inch of drag, the thick head of Bartolomeo’s cock tugging against his rim only to push back in a moment later and repeat the same, sweet, _agonizing_ motion.

“Should I do this more often?” Cavendish asked, embarrassed by how breathless he already was. “Spend a day just going about my business with my ass plugged up and full of your cum? Maybe when I’m finished with you I should just push it right back in and keep going until I’m so full that I can’t take any more. Would you like that?”

“Fuck yeah I’d like that.” Bartolomeo’s voice was a rough growl, rumbling against the nape of Cavendish’s neck. “Would ya really let me fill you up like that, Master?”

“Maybe. If you’re good enough.” Cavendish tilted his head over his shoulder to watch Bartolomeo’s expression. “Will you be a good slave for me, Bartolomeo?”

His eyes were wide and dark and his tongue darted out to sweep across his lips. “Yeah. Of course. Any-anything for you, Master. _Anything_.”

A particularly deep thrust had Cavendish arching into Bartolomeo’s grip, but instead of pressing harder, Bartolomeo stilled. 

“What are you doing?” Cavendish let a little annoyance bleed into his tone. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Master,” Bartolomeo blurted hastily. “I want—can I—Am I allowed to ask ya for a favor?” His fingers were clenching nervously at Cavendish’s hips and the older man sent him a soft smile to momentarily ease the rigidity of their roles. 

“What is it?”

“Stand—Can ya stand in front of the mirrors? I wanna be able to see your face.”

“Ask nicely.”

“ _Please_ , Master?” God, if Bartolomeo was whining already then when he really got into it this was going to be a good, _rough_ fuck. “Wanna watch your pretty face while I fuck your gorgeous ass till it’s sore and leaking.”

His teeth sank into the spot where his neck and shoulder met and Cavendish trembled. 

“Alright. But only if that’s a promise.”

Bartolomeo nodded enthusiastically, pulling back when Cavendish gently kicked against his ankle and then watching as Cavendish planted his palms against the mirror and bent into an enticing curve, his long legs spread wide. 

At a gesture of invitation, Bartolomeo stepped forward. He swept through the cum along the inside of Cavendish’s thigh, collecting it against the rough pad of his thumb and then pressing it back into Cavendish’s hole as he pushed his hips forward. Cavendish gasped at the slight burn of the additional stretch, rocking up onto his toes. 

For a second, meeting the eyes of his own reflection and getting distracted by their dark, hazy shine, Cavendish forgot all about whatever sort of dynamic he’d contrived and he spoke honestly, breath fogging against the mirror in short, sharp pants. 

“Oh, God, Barto, that’s good. You’re already so big and mmm…I love the way you stretch me out.”

Bartolomeo, evidently, was not having the same trouble, judging by his immediate, albeit heavily slurred reply. 

“Jus’ wanna make Master feel good.”

He started moving faster, his breath quickly growing ragged as each thrust rubbed the head of his cock against the pad of his thumb on one side and the slick heat of Cavendish’s walls on the other. 

“Do ya—Can I—M— _ah_.”

Bartolomeo couldn’t quite get the question out, his hips rolling mechanically as he sought to maintain the steady pleasure of his current pace and angle. When Cavendish glanced up at his reflection he could see the whites of his eyes beneath his fluttering lashes and the red shine of blood where he’d bitten hard enough into his lip to break the skin.

“Use your words.”

An almost inhuman sound tore out of Bartolomeo’s throat, starting as a growl and ending in a desperate, tapering whine. 

“C-can I…” He groaned in frustration, eyes rolling forward again to fix a glassy stare on Cavendish’s reflection. “Can I touch you, Master?”

Cavendish paused, but when he replied, his voice didn’t sound nearly as nonchalant as he had hoped. “I suppose so.”

Bartolomeo’s free hand shifted, wrapping around Cavendish’s dick and beginning to pump it in time with his thrusts, its grip precise and familiar and _so damn good_. 

“Dunno if I can…hold out much longer,” Bartolomeo huffed, rhythm stuttering and then quickening when it smoothed out again.

“You’d better,” Cavendish ground out between his teeth. “If you come before me I’ll be very disappointed.”

Bartolomeo’s brow furrowed but he nodded in acceptance. He let his thumb slip free, angle shifting in response and when he slammed back in again, Cavendish wailed. 

“Oh, god—goddamn. Bartolomeo, keep—stay… _there_!” 

Bartolomeo’s hand anchored to the curve of Cavendish’s hip, steadying him as he pounded into him, each rough thrust hitting directly against his prostate and making his mind go white with pleasure. 

Cavendish hastily slid one hand further up on the mirror to stop his head from slamming into the glass, Bartolomeo’s pace absolutely brutal as he simultaneously tried to urge Cavendish toward his orgasm and chase his own. 

“Please,” Bartolomeo begged, voice so rough that Cavendish almost couldn’t understand him. “Please, come for me, Master. I need to see you come.”

If Cavendish had been able to hold out, he would’ve, if only so that Bartolomeo didn’t think it was hearing that name that sent him over the edge. But, as it was, he came immediately at the sound of Bartolomeo’s plea, cum streaking messily across the mirror and then dribbling over Bartolomeo’s still moving fist in a weak second pulse as Bartolomeo filled his ass with another load. 

Bartolomeo’s head fell to rest between Cavendish’s shoulder blades and when Cavendish could feel him heave a heavy sigh, he craned his neck back to try and get a good look at him. 

“How was that?”

There was a brief pause before Bartolomeo offered a wobbly thumb’s up. Cavendish laughed softly and captured his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“How was it for you, Cav?” Bartolomeo asked a few seconds later, timidly switching out of his adopted persona. 

“Good,” Cavendish answered, signaling for Bartolomeo to set him free and then retrieving the discarded plug before moving to stand back in front of where Barto was slumped against the mirror. He brought his hands up to Bartolomeo’s face, cradling his flushed cheeks in his palms. “You did very well.”

Bartolomeo’s blush deepened at the praise and Cavendish lifted onto his toes to kiss him. 

“I think I might just have to keep you around as my slave after all. How does that sound?”

“Great.” Bartolomeo’s gaze dropped and when their eyes met, they were dark and intense. “I’m always happy to serve…” He bent down, voice a low rumble against Cavendish’s ear and tone so beautifully subservient that it had Cavendish contemplating his own stamina.

“…Master.”


	22. Massage (Franky/Robin)

Although Franky might have believed he was subtle, Robin was a very observant woman, and paid more attention to her husband than he tended to realize. 

As such, she had begun to notice a decline in his posture. He was hunching more often, even when he was sitting on their couch or in a chair, and more than once, she had caught him absently rubbing at the spots where his prosthetics were connected and wincing openly. Whether it was caused by a week of fairly intense physical labor or the weather, she wasn’t sure, but she could tell that he was in pain, and was being stubbornly silent about it.

“Franky.”

His eyes shifted from the movie playing on the television to meet hers and he cocked an eyebrow. 

“Lay down on your stomach.”

She could tell by his answering frown that he knew what she was asking, but he didn’t argue. When he was settled and had turned his head back toward the TV, Robin straddled his thighs and moved her hands up to his shoulders beneath his shirt.

The muscles beneath her hands were tense and she slowly began to rub them loose with her thumbs and the heel of her palm, working deeply against the knots and watching for any signs of discomfort. 

Despite his initial reluctance, Franky melted into her touch, his back rising and falling in a heavy, contended sigh.

“You should’ve told me it hurt,” Robin scolded him softly. Her lips brushed the nape of his neck, relaxing him further.

“I always hurt somewhere,” Franky mumbled. “Comes with the job.”

“Yes, but I can help. You don’t have to just suffer in silence.”

He nodded in acceptance.

Deft fingers worked his arm free from his shoulder, setting it carefully on the coffee table along with the lining beneath. Franky offered a soft sigh of relief when Robin began to massage the knotted scar tissue. 

His breathing grew slow and easy as she continued, working her way down along his spine and paying special attention to the small of his back.

“Feels nice.”

Robin hummed softly. “Can you take your shirt off?”

They maneuvered around until Robin was able to help him pull it off over his head, her fingers returning to the broad expanse of his back the moment it fell to the rug. 

With his shirt gone, she was able to see the minute shifting of his muscles beneath her fingertips, watching raptly as the tension visibly released at her touch. Her thumbs worked in small circles beside each of his vertebrae, eliciting the occasional faint hiss as she pressed over the spots of noticeable resistance.

When she reached the small of his back again she shifted to pushing down with the heels of her palms. Franky groaned.

“How are you so good with your hands?”

Robin shrugged, smiling slightly. “Maybe I was meant to be a masseuse.”

“I’d believe it.”

Franky relaxed with every pass of her hands and when he became a little less responsive, Robin’s eyes trailed downward.

“How’s your leg?”

“Pretty bad,” Franky admitted. “I think it’s the weather, but it’s been bothering me a lot.”

“You should tell me things like that,” Robin chastised gently, removing his prosthetic calf and setting it beside his arm.

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

Her fingers worked carefully over the stump of his left knee and he moaned beneath her, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Okay, fine, you’re right. I should’ve told you a lot sooner.”

“Does this feel okay?”

“Feels amazing.”

Robin continued to massage way up and down his thigh until she could feel the tension ebb away. Franky made soft, contented sounds of pleasure and after a particularly low moan of approval, Robin paused.

“Is there anywhere else that it hurts?”

Her voice was low, a little coy, and Franky looked back over his shoulder to gauge her expression before responding. 

“I’ve been sitting a lot, lately, so…”

Robin’s fingertips trailed up along his thighs, the touch just light enough to make Franky shiver as goosebumps rose up along his skin. She gripped his ass firmly in both hands, squeezing and kneading and Franky was a little embarrassed by the groan that ripped from his throat. 

He’d been getting vaguely aroused since she first started, but not enough to want to actually do anything about it. Now, he was hard and throbbing against the plush pressure of the couch cushions, his cock giving twinges of interest with every increasingly pointed dig of her fingers. 

“Anywhere else?” Robin asked, bending down to whisper beside his ear. Her breasts pressed firmly against his back, soft and warm even through the thin fabric of her shirt, and he could feel her nipples harden at the contact.

Franky nodded dumbly and when Robin lifted up a bit, he squirmed around until he was on his back beneath her. He caught her wrist, pressing her palm flat against the tent in his boxers. 

“Here.”

Robin hummed softly, rubbing little circles up along his shaft with her thumbs. “Sore?”

She reached through the slit in his underwear and Franky’s hips lifted off the couch when she began to pump her fist along his cock. 

_“Aching.”_

Robin laughed softly and Franky couldn’t do anything more than just stare up at her with a hazy, loving gaze.

“I really was just trying to give you a massage,” she berated, soft and affectionate.

“Well, is it my fault if I get a little horny when my wife touches me?”

“A little?” Robin teased, squeezing lightly and sweeping her thumb through the pre-cum that welled up.

“Fine. A lot. You’re a certified ten outta ten, Robin, can ya really blame me?”

Robin brought both hands up, one gripping at the flushed, swollen head while the other worked low over the base, half of her fingers splayed to trace over his balls as Franky twisted fitfully beneath her. 

“Shit, that’s good. A little…a little spit though, Robbie?”

Robin spat into her palm, drawing a loud cry out of Franky when she dropped her hand again and began working it in faster, slicker strokes.

“ _Yeah_ , God, that’s it.”

Robin’s thumb slipped smoothly along the slit, making Franky jerk upward, eyes rolling back a bit as his long eyelashes fluttered. With the pad of it wet with pre-cum, she dragged it down, her nail scraping across his frenulum as he practically shouted toward the ceiling. Her thumb worked beneath the thick, pulsing crown of his cock, smearing saliva and pre-cum over the flushed, velvety skin as Franky’s hips bucked into the sensation. 

“How much do you want to have to clean up?” Robin asked, squeezing at Franky’s balls with her other hand and earning a strangled moan.

Franky just stared at her, wide-eyed and visibly frazzled and looking just about ready to break.

Making the decision herself, Robin bent down, shifting her hand lower on his shaft as she closed her lips around the tip of his cock. 

A broken attempt at Robin’s name tore roughly out of Franky’s throat as he doubled over, hands scrabbling for purchase in her hair. He curled forward, hips rocking weakly as Robin hollowed her cheeks and the second her tongue flicked across the slit he was coming onto it, spilling thick and warm down her throat as she continued to suck. 

“Fucking…Christ,” Franky mumbled dazedly, his eyes fixed unseeing on the ceiling as he sank back down onto the couch.

He let out a little whine when he heard Robin swallow and when she moved to sit on his chest, he cast his bleary gaze back toward the television.

“We should probably go back,” he mused, watching the sequence onscreen with a furrow in his brow. “I don’t have any clue what’s happening anymore.”

Robin hummed softly and when Franky looked up at her, her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded. She had one hand beneath her dress, moving slowly, and Franky’s mouth went dry as her eyes flicked toward his parted lips. 

“Or maybe we just finish it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.” He drew her closer with a hand on her hip, his breath fanning warm and reverent across the wet patch on her panties. 

“Or maybe we just do that.”


	23. Piercings (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farky, actually writing a (triple+) drabble? It’s more likely than you’d think. Especially now that the winter storm has passed and I actually have to go back to work again.

“Have you ever thought about getting any other piercings?”

Bartolomeo shrugged, and then bared his teeth in a wide grin. “Why? You want me to get a Prince Albert?”

Cavendish snorted, nipping playfully at Bartolomeo’s hipbone and cutting his laughter off in a sharp gasp.

“I was thinking about your nipples, actually,” he replied, reaching up to roll one between his fingertips. “As much as I love your chest, I do wish it was a little more sensitive. But now that you mention it, I think your cock would look exquisite with a dydoe.”

Bartolomeo groaned loudly, said cock twitching against the grinning curve of Cavendish’s lips.

“Goddammit, Cav, ya can’t just say shit like that.”

“Sure I can.” Cavendish licked his way slowly along the underside of Bartolomeo’s shaft and then let the tip slip into his mouth with a wet slurp. When he let it pop free again, earning a grumble of complaint, his spit-slick lips curved up once more. “And we both know you’d do it if I asked you to.”

“Hmm,” Bartolomeo reached a hand down to card absently through Cavendish’s hair, encouraging, but not overtly directing. “If I ever actually did it, you should get your bellybutton pierced. It already gets ya so fuckin’ horny and I think it’d look hot.”

“Well, I’m never doing that,” Cavendish responded. “So I guess I’ll just have to keep appreciating your dick as it is.” He punctuated the statement with a lick across the tip and Bartolomeo’s breath stuttered around another laugh, his dark eyes gleaming with roguish amusement. 

Without warning, Bartolomeo wrapped his legs firmly around Cavendish’s shoulders and effortlessly flipped him over. Cavendish’s breath left his lungs in a gasp of surprise and he couldn’t quite manage to regain it before Bartolomeo was looming over him and pressing his cock back between his lips.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Bartolomeo rumbled. “Keep suckin’, and maybe I’ll think about gettin’ my tongue pierced instead, how ‘bout that?”


	24. Ass Worship (Shanks/Buggy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, without a doubt, the stupidest fucking thing I've ever written. Hope y'all like it.

“Shanks, give it back!”

Buggy’s voice was an angry hiss from beyond the locked door, hushed from its usual pitch in an attempt at discretion. 

“This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Shanks answered simply, rubbing his face idly against the soft curve beneath his cheek and earning a strangled sound from outside. “I don’t think I will.”

“Red Hair, you bastard!” Buggy’s voice was rising now, cracking as it pitched higher towards its usual screech. “The idiots on your crew are going to find out what’s going on and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“They all heard you screaming my name last night, Bug,” Shanks responded, the smirk evident in his tone. Buggy’s hands clenched into fists where they were hovering nervously at his sides. “Think that ship’s sailed.”

“But this— _this_ is a step too far!” Buggy stammered. Shanks heard the petulant drum of his feet against the deck, and then a short, sharp sigh. “I hate you.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

A sound of fury was bitten back harshly behind Buggy’s teeth as he stalked off, a veritable storm of limbs, as much from agitation as in an attempt to hide his current state from any of the Red Hair pirates. 

Shanks chuckled lowly at his retreat, rolling over onto his back and stretching out across the bed with a wide yawn. 

He’d been planning this since Buggy had first agreed to spend a few nights on his ship, in a fit of blustering reluctance that Shanks knew well enough to see through. He’d done it once before, when they were still practically kids, and he remembered it fondly as one of the best nights of his life.

So, when Shanks had woken first, he’d waited patiently, feigning sleep until Buggy’s first familiar stretch of the morning. The moment he woke up, he always sprawled out in an almost obscene display of his devil fruit power, body splitting into what looked to be about a hundred pieces that all cracked and stretched in a simultaneous cacophony before resettling into the form of the clown that Shanks had chosen to share his bed with. As soon as it had happened, Shanks pounced, the sudden movement startling Buggy enough to keep him separated just a little longer, and he had wrestled away the section he wanted amidst Buggy’s screeching protests.

Which is how he’d ended up where he was now, reclined comfortably on his bed, using Buggy’s ass as a lovely, plush pillow while the other man had a fit somewhere else on the ship.

Buggy didn’t respond to praise well, which was something of a surprise given how much he preened in front of his crew when they all but worshipped him, but Shanks had never had much luck with complimenting him. He always flushed and sputtered and spat out denials, no matter how serious and genuine Shanks attempted to be, so, sometimes he had to resort to more extreme measures to prove how much he appreciated certain parts of his idiotic lover. 

And he _really_ appreciated his ass. 

Having worked some of the ache from his muscles, Shanks rolled back over onto his stomach, nose diving directly between the round cheeks of the ass he had literally strapped to the bed in order to prevent Buggy from forcing him to play a game of goddamn tag with it. 

The yelp he got in answer was loud enough that he could hear it all the way in his quarters, and Buggy flushed crimson when he _felt_ Shanks grin against his skin. 

Buggy picked up his pace, internally raging at the absolute idiot of a man he’d the mistake of falling into some approximation of love with when he was a kid who didn’t know any better. The fact that those feelings still remained only made it worse when Shanks did things like _this_.

He practically catapulted himself into one of the storage rooms, collapsing in a fitful heap of scattered body parts against the door. And just in time too, because Shanks had begun to lick his way slowly toward the one place Buggy didn’t—but good God, _did_ —want his touch.

Before he could think better of it, he had one less ear on his head, sending it back across the ship and beneath the door of Shanks’ cabin, bringing him the soft, wet sounds of Shanks’ tongue along with the sensations of its movement and forcing a shudder to break him apart again.

Shanks knew the moment Buggy decided to eavesdrop, and he was more than happy to oblige, murmuring directly into the warming skin beneath his lips. 

“You taste so good, Bug. Forgot how much I missed it.”

On the other side of the ship, Buggy moaned. 

Shanks let his tongue flick over Buggy’s hole, marveling at the way it clenched and wishing he could see the way the rest of his body reacted. He hoped he wasn’t getting too hard already, because he had quite the morning planned. 

Forced into a strange and unwilling amalgamation of parts by the lack of a certain section of his central structure, Buggy sat in a heap on the cool planks of the storage room, his dick stiffening quite steadily at the combination of Shanks’ words and teasing touch.

“You’ve got the best ass in all the Blues combined, plus the Grand Line, Buggy,” Shanks continued, flattening his tongue to start making longer, deeper strokes, hips bucking unconsciously into the tangled sheets when he felt Buggy’s hole begin to relax and loosen beneath his ministrations. 

Buggy was panting softly, hat crumpled back against the door beneath the weight of his head, and a disembodied hand flew to muffle his cry of surprise when he felt a finger begin to push in alongside Shanks’ tongue. 

“You take me so well. Even after so long. Are you letting other people fuck you, Buggy?” There wasn’t any jealousy in Shanks’ tone, just a curious lilt that made Buggy blush all the same. They had never agreed to any exclusivity; it didn’t make much sense to when they barely saw each other, and when Shanks looked, well, like _that_. Even so, the answer to the question was no. Buggy didn’t have the time or the energy to try and find an even remotely suitable lover in his spare time, and he wasn’t the type to take advantage of his crew’s devotion in that way. 

But that didn’t mean that he didn’t think about Shanks in the privacy of his own cabin with a few of his own fingers up his ass. On a fairly regular basis. 

Shanks eased in a second finger, still using his tongue to soften the resistance of Buggy’s rim as he began to slowly pump them in steady, even movements. 

“Even if you are,” Shanks said in a musing tone. “I’m still glad I can say I was the first one to ever be inside you like this. I can still remember how tight you were that first time, how nervous we both were, how _good_ it felt. I think about you a lot, Buggy. You and your incredible ass.”

Buggy’s eyes rolled, weakly, too aroused to be as annoyed as he wanted to be. 

“Are you touching yourself yet, Bug?”

Buggy startled at the direct address, cheeks flushing to match his nose as he looked down sheepishly to find his free hand palming his cock through his pants, seemingly at its own discretion. His brain felt split between the warring sensations of his jumbled body, making each of them grow in intensity in faltering waves as his focus distractedly shifted among them.

Shanks added a third finger, using better lubrication than his own spit this time, and when he curled all three in a frustratingly precise jab at Buggy’s prostate, Buggy fell apart in a jarring, fitful split.

“I’m going to make you come just like this,” Shanks murmured, his voice dark and full of promise. “I know you can. Just another reason I love this so much.” 

He punctuated the statement by sinking his teeth deep into the flushed, quivering flesh of Buggy’s restrained, disembodied ass, and Buggy let out a strangled keen. 

The assault on his prostate took most of his attention, Shanks’ murmurs fading to white noise and the rhythmic buck of his hips faltering nearly to a stop. He could feel a familiar heat curling through the pit of his stomach, too much, too soon, too strange when it wasn’t directly connected to the brush of Shanks’ rough fingertips along his walls.

Within moments he was coming apart, literally and figuratively, his body collapsing and rejoining as he trembled through the force of his orgasm, his palm growing sticky and a rush of static filling his ears just moments before Shanks’ awed whisper. 

“ _Fuck_ , Buggy, I can _feel_ it.” His eyes were fixed firmly to the clench of Buggy’s hole around the wide spread of his fingers, and in a sudden rush, Shanks scrambled up, fumbling around for the vial of oil with his hand and messily smearing it across his cock. 

Buggy groaned when Shanks’ fingers slipped free, hole squeezing around nothing, only for it to be filled again a mere second later, split wide on Shanks’ cock as he shoved it into the still rhythmic contractions of Buggy’s walls. His mouth opened in a desperate, garbled scream.

Shanks’ pace was harried and a little brutal. Without the rest of Buggy there to tease and kiss and fondle, he was solely focused on the ass pinned to the bed, and the way it felt around his aching cock. 

Even though they’d tumbled through the sheets the night before, Shanks felt _desperate_. He didn’t know when Buggy would be gone, when or _if_ he’d see him again after. They lived dangerous lives, far apart, and even on the rare occasions when Buggy would humor a very drunk Shanks over the den den mushi and let him come to the sound of his voice, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like _this_.

Buggy was near tears in the storage room, hand fisted around his still hard cock as he was forced to endure the barrage of sensations from the ass that Shanks was currently pounding into the mattress. He hated the man, absolutely _loathed_ him, but he also wished that he could grab him right now by his stupid, handsome face, and smash their lips together; _anything_ to lessen the intensity of what was happening. 

Shanks had fallen to chanting Buggy’s name in a hoarse, gasping voice, hand fisted in the sheets and balls slapping against the sloppily slick skin of Buggy’s ass with every rough stroke. He wasn’t going to last long, not at this rate, and he feverishly hoped that wherever he was, Buggy was enjoying this as much as he was. 

“Shit, _Buggy, **fuck**_! Your ass—so, so good, I— _ngggh_.”

Buggy’s cum smeared across the dark planks of the storage room deck, shooting out in a thick stream as he felt Shanks pump him full of his own release. 

In the dark oppressive silence of the storage room, Buggy felt his cheeks heat, and his head fell back against the door again with a muffled thump. He was halfway into a spiral about how stupid this relationship was to ever try to entertain, how much of an idiot he was to have fallen in love with _Shanks_ of all people, when his lover’s voice broke him from his thoughts. 

“You can come back now, Bug. I’ll give you your ass, if you want it, but it’s…a little messy. Looks damn good like this though.”

He felt Shanks’ tongue flick out to clean up a few drops of his own semen and Buggy whimpered softly. 

He rose on trembling legs, his mind already formulating the loud and wholly deserved chewing out that Shanks was going to get for this.

At least, he mused, breaking apart with a huff, he didn’t actually have to try to walk.


	25. Lingerie (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that bottom Barto needed his time to shine

Bartolomeo hadn’t even managed to close the garage door before Cavendish was hollering from upstairs at the sound of the laundry room door opening. 

“Bartolomeo, come here!”

Sighing, he toed off his shoes, hit the button for the garage door, and began to trudge upstairs. When he got there, Cavendish was sitting cross-legged on their bed in a pair of Bartolomeo’s basketball shorts, with a few nondescript packages in front of him. Bartolomeo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. 

“Hey, babe. I’m good, thanks for askin’. How are you?”

“Good?” Cavendish echoed. “Late, is what you are.”

Bartolomeo rolled his eyes. “Christ, you’re in a mood. I got caught up talkin’ to Gambia on my way out.”

Cavendish hummed noncommittally. “Well, anyway, Suleiman forwarded this stuff to us from the office, and I needed you here to see how we like it.”

Bartolomeo frowned, but stepped into the room to stand at the foot of the bed. “What is it?”

“A company I’ve worked with a few times before is offering another sponsorship for an upcoming show in exchange for some advertising with a few of their products.”

“That didn’t answer my question, Cabbage.”

“Lingerie,” Cavendish answered, looking up at Bartolomeo with a surprisingly neutral expression. “It’s for a new intimates line they’re trying out online.”

“Oh.” Well, _now_ Bartolomeo was a little more interested. “Alright. Try it on then, I’ll let ya know what I think of it.”

“Mm,” Cavendish’s lips curved into a smile that was a little too mischievous for Bartolomeo’s liking. “Incorrect assumption. These, Barto, dearest,” He tapped a finger against the package directly between them. “Were made for you.”

Bartolomeo balked. He could feel the heat creeping along his cheeks before he managed to stammer out a reply. “M- _me_?!”

“Mmhm.” Cavendish looked positively thrilled by his reaction. “Remember that boudoir shoot I did that you got roped into doing a few shots with me for?”

“Yeah, but,” Bartolomeo frowned. “I wasn’t wearin’ anything like you were.”

“I know. But apparently, after that shoot was published online, the company got a lot of comments from men with, or partners of men with, bodies more like yours than mine who wanted their own line of products. To be completely honest, they want you to walk in their upcoming show _with me_ , but I told them that that was entirely your decision and that I wouldn’t do more than give you what they sent and see how we felt about it.”

Bartolomeo looked ready to implode. 

“But I—” the wrestler protested weakly. “I’m too…big for that kinda shit. I’m fuckin’ 6’6” and 280, babe.”

“I know,” Cavendish answered mildly. “I sent them your measurements. When I said these were made for you I meant it quite literally.”

“They won’t look good on me, Cav,” Bartolomeo mumbled, cheeks burning, refusing to meet his fiancé’s gaze. 

Cavendish leaned forward, propping himself on his knees so he could lean forward enough to tilt Bartolomeo’s chin and give him a kiss. 

“We won’t know that until you try them on.”

Bartolomeo didn’t really look any less conflicted, but he did slowly begin to gather up the packages, shuffling them awkwardly around in his hands for a moment before looking toward the adjoining bathroom.

“Ya really want me to?”

“Yes,” Cavendish answered simply.

Brow furrowed, Bartolomeo lumbered off, firmly shutting the door and leaving Cavendish to sit in the center of their bed. He was already excited by the prospect of what might have been created for his fiancé, and he felt a little thrill race up his spine at the sound of tearing paper. 

It was almost ten minutes later that Bartolomeo spoke up, his voice muffled by the door still shut between them.

“Cabbage, I don’t think this was a good idea.”

Cavendish could barely hear his mumble of dissent, and it was clear from the use of his bedroom banned nickname that whatever Bartolomeo had chosen to put on was not getting him in the proper mood.

“Can I see it?”

Bartolomeo was quiet for a long moment. 

“I don’t want you to.”

Cavendish chewed absently at the inside of his bottom lip, trying to decide how best to proceed. 

“Okay,” he said finally. “If you aren’t comfortable you can take it off and I’ll never mention it again. But,” he added, after hearing Bartolomeo’s sigh of relief. “I would like to see you in it. If you’re willing to let me.”

Cavendish had counted nearly up to two full minutes before Bartolomeo responded.

“Promise ya won’t laugh?”

Cavendish propped himself up on his knees, resettling to make himself comfortable when he felt his cock stiffen in anticipation.

“I promise.”

After taking a deep breath, Bartolomeo stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes screwed shut to avoid Cavendish’s gaze. When he was met with only silence, he carefully cracked one eye open and then felt his heartbeat stutter at the sight before him.

Cavendish looked positively ready to devour him. His eyes were dark beneath heavy lids, teeth firmly in his bottom lip, palm pressed against the visible tent in the loose shorts slung low over his hips.

“You look…stunning, Bartolomeo.”

Bartolomeo blinked. His eyes fell to the sheer, red, cropped top stretched taut over his pecs and broad shoulders and the matching red and black jock. “I…do?”

Cavendish nodded. “Turn around for me?”

Bartolomeo did as he was told, and then yelped and flushed crimson when Cavendish reached out to land a firm smack across his exposed ass.

“God, Bartolomeo,” Cavendish mused, a little less teasing and a little more affectionate than it had sounded in his head. “You’re so…” He searched fruitlessly for the right word, brain a bit too drained of its regular blood flow to think clearly. “Thick.”

A self-conscious laugh huffed from Barto’s lips, his head tilting to look back at Cavendish over his shoulder as his blush deepened. “Yeah? Is that…a good thing?”

“Absolutely.” Cavendish let out a dreamy sigh as he admired the way the black straps of the jock framed Bartolomeo’s muscular ass. “Can I fuck you? With all of that on?”

Barto turned around, head bobbing, and Cavendish was happy to see that his praise was garnering a positive reaction.

“Lay down however you want me to prep you.”

Bartolomeo settled down onto his back, looking a little bashful as Cavendish scampered off and then returned to sit between his spread thighs. 

“Ya really like it?” he asked quietly, bending his knees when Cavendish gestured for him to and canting his hips upward.

“I really do.” Cavendish paused, his lube-slick fingers making small circles over Bartolomeo’s hole as he took a moment to admire the ensemble again. “The top makes your pecs look great, and since it stops under them, it draws attention to your abs too. And this…” He used his dry hand to trace over the growing bulge contained by the jockstrap. “Makes your dick _and_ your ass look phenomenal.”

Bartolomeo was blushing furiously by the time Cavendish had finished, not used to being the one lavished with praise. His lips were curved in a small, pleased smile, the sharp points of his canines pressing into his bottom lip to keep it from widening into a grin.

Suppressing a fond laugh, Cavendish pushed one finger slowly past the tension of his rim, making Bartolomeo squirm as his mouth fell open. 

“Cav…”

“Hmm?”

Bartolomeo didn’t seem to realize he had spoken, and he blinked in confusion when Cavendish replied. “Oh,” he said finally. “Nothin’. I just…forget how good it feels sometimes, havin’ you inside me instead of the other way ‘round.”

“Should we do it more often?”

Evidently, Barto had been expecting that question, because his head was shaking before Cavendish had even finished. “Nah, I said good but not better. Ain’t nothin’ better than the way your ass feels around my cock, baby, I don’t wanna give that up.”

Cavendish wasn’t able to hold back a laugh that time, but it seemed that Bartolomeo was in high enough spirits now not to take offense to it. He just grinned a little dopily in reply. 

“Are you ready for another?”

Bartolomeo shifted around before nodding. When Cavendish added a second finger, he groaned, brow furrowing and teeth returning to his bottom lip. 

“Too much or…?”

“Nuh uh,” Barto rumbled. “Good. Keep goin’.”

Cavendish moved slowly, knowing that Bartolomeo’s body wasn’t nearly as well-adjusted to being spread open as his own. He curled his fingers every time they sank in all the way, watching as Bartolomeo’s eyes grew hazy and unfocused. 

“I’m going to go for three,” Cavendish warned, trying not to be too impatient, but also, more than ready to feel the tight pressure of Bartolomeo’s ass around his cock. “Tell me if you need me to pull it back out.”

Bartolomeo’s head lolled in a weak approximation of a nod, his hips beginning to rock minutely into the press of Cavendish’s fingers with every stroke. He poured out more lube before working in a third, the following drive forward making a wet slurping sound as Bartolomeo’s hole sucked greedily at the invasion. 

A quick glance upward confirmed that Bartolomeo’s flush was creeping steadily toward his chest with every slick noise, only a few of them drowned out by the increasing frequency of his moans. 

“Is this how _you_ feel when _I_ wear lingerie?” Cavendish asked, not really expecting much of a coherent response. 

Bartolomeo groaned, eyes fluttering back open to look at Cavendish as he replied. “Horny? Yeah, Cav, it gets me pretty damn horny.”

Cavendish smiled as he shook his head. “No. Well, yes, I suppose. But I meant…” He hesitated, spending a few seconds just watching the combined girth of his fingers push past Bartolomeo’s rim and disappear deep into his wet, stretched hole. “The second I saw you in this I wanted to fill you up, with my dick, my cum, whatever you can take, whatever you want.” He bent down to give Bartolomeo a kiss when he reddened even further and finished in a low murmur against his lips. “This is hardly the first time I’ve fucked you, but I’ve never felt like this.”

“Desperate?” Barto supplied helpfully, because, yeah, he knew the feeling. 

Cavendish nodded in agreement. “I _need_ to feel you around me, Bartolomeo. More than anything.”

“Go ahead then. I can take it.”

Bartolomeo widened the spread of his thighs, giving Cavendish a straight line of sight from the way the jock strained above his erection to the stretch of the thin fabric across his heaving chest. 

Cavendish withdrew his fingers, taking the lube back when Bartolomeo found it in the sheets and passed it over. The moment he deemed himself properly lubricated, he pressed forward, burying his cock to the hilt as Bartolomeo arched up underneath him. 

“Can ya—” One of Barto’s hands scrambled to find purchase on Cavendish’s narrow waist, holding him in place as he panted softly. “Give me a sec?”

Cavendish nodded, dropping his head to rest against Bartolomeo’s shoulder as he resisted the urge to move. Even with adequate prep, Bartolomeo still felt so _tight_ , and what little resolve Cavendish had to be gentle was quickly crumbling. 

“Oh-okay,” Bartolomeo said, voice shaky and rough with arousal. “I think you can— _fuck_ , baby…”

The second he had permission Cavendish pulled out, only making it halfway before his hips jerked back forward again to keep himself sheathed in the wet warmth of Bartolomeo’s walls. He captured Barto’s free hand with one of his own, pressing the tight tangle of their fingers into the mattress in a weak attempt to tether himself to something solid. 

“So tight, so good, so…” Cavendish pulled back just a little, eyes fixing on the slowly darkening spots where Bartolomeo was beginning to sweat through the gauzy fabric of the top. _“So hot.”_

Bartolomeo felt lightheaded, breath puffing out in harsh bursts that felt restricted by the stretch of the lingerie across his chest and the weight of Cavendish on top of him. He could feel the heat of the flush across his cheeks and neck, overwhelmed by the sensation of Cavendish buried deep inside of him as he murmured an almost unending stream of praise into the curve of his neck.

He heard a harried “love you” through the haze and returned it, gruffly, before Cavendish’s teeth latched onto his ear and he lost all sense of coherence. 

Cavendish’s free hand pulled roughly at Bartolomeo’s hair, yanking backward until he bared his throat and then leaving dark marks across it as Bartolomeo’s hips worked to drag his throbbing, confined cock against Cavendish’s abdomen. With every rocking motion of his body, Cavendish’s nipples rubbed over the sheer fabric of Bartolomeo’s lingerie, sending little shocks of pleasure up his spine and drawing out soft, delighted gasps. 

“You feel amazing, Bartolomeo, I want to stay inside you forever.”

Bartolomeo whimpered, eyes rolling upward to fix Cavendish with a look of needy devotion. “Touch me, baby, please?”

“Not yet,” Cavendish answered, pulling at the dejected jut of Bartolomeo’s lip with his teeth and shifting his angle. “I want you to feel _good_ , Barto, so good you’ll come as soon as I put a hand on your cock.”

Bartolomeo’s whine of response was shattered by a loud cry as Cavendish began to rub over his prostate with every stroke, shortening his movements to keep it stimulated as Bartolomeo began to shake helplessly beneath him.

“C-Cav…” His name tapered off into a rough groan and Cavendish pressed a kiss to the right wing of Bartolomeo’s chest tattoo through the damp layer of his top.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Bartolomeo didn’t respond, couldn’t when he was so lost in the heat spreading outward from his gut to tingle in the tips of his fingers and toes. He was rutting mindlessly upward in an effort to gain some friction against his cock, and a desperate sound escaped from his panting mouth when Cavendish pressed him firmly back down against the mattress to stop him.

“If you can tell me what you want, I can give it to you.”

“T-tuh— _mm_ —ah!” He grabbed out for Cavendish’s wrist, but, wound tight as he was, Cavendish was able to shake himself free with little effort.

“Talk to me, sweet boy,” Cavendish urged. “Let me hear those pretty words.”

Cavendish’s own breath hitched as he spoke, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer and he would be spilling into Bartolomeo with a few rough strokes. If he could get Bartolomeo off first that was preferrable, but, seeming less likely with every passing second. He felt too good, too tight, too warm around Cavendish’s aching cock, and every time he looked down and saw what Bartolomeo was wearing again, he felt it throb in time with his thundering pulse. 

“Touch me,” Bartolomeo rasped. “Jack me off, Cav, make me come, I wanna come, wanna feel _you_ come—”

His rambling stopped when Cavendish worked a hand between the slick press of their bodies, pulling his cock out the side of the jockstrap and beginning to pump in quick strokes across the swollen, throbbing head. Bartolomeo let out an incoherent sound of pleasure, head thrown back on the pillow and both hands gripping onto Cavendish so tightly it felt as though he might be scared he’d just float away without an anchor.

When Cavendish jabbed a harsh thumb beneath the crown of Bartolomeo’s cock and squeezed his fist, it pulsed in his grip, cum coating the already sticky press of their thighs. His hole clenched as he came and Cavendish’s pace quickened, his cock slamming against Bartolomeo’s oversensitive prostate and earning a wail from his still thrashing partner. 

When Cavendish cast a quick, harried glance up toward Bartolomeo, he found him staring back, pupils blown wide, hair plastered to his flushed cheeks with sweat and loosening gel. 

Bartolomeo opened his mouth, voice coming out low and hoarse from between red, swollen lips. 

“Fill me up, baby.”

And Cavendish did. 

His cum pumped thick and hot from his pulsing cock, drawing groans from both of them as he spilled into the fluttering aftershocks of Bartolomeo’s stretched and thoroughly fucked hole.

When Cavendish began to idly rub the pad of his thumb over the fabric glued to Bartolomeo’s chest, Barto cocked the ridge of his brow. 

“So, whaddaya think?”

Cavendish tilted his head so he could look up at Bartolomeo. “About the lingerie?”

Barto nodded and Cavendish offered a thoughtful hum.

“I think…there are two more sets in the bathroom that I need to see before I can make a decision.”

“Christ, Cavendish.” Bartolomeo huffed out an affectionate laugh, jostling Cavendish from his position draped over his chest and earning a grin from his fiancé. “Can you get hard again that fast? I’m fuckin’ beat.”

“Mmm.” Cavendish leaned up and used a few fingers to coax Bartolomeo’s lips open for a deep kiss. “Go try another one on and let’s find out.”


	26. Suspension (Iceburg/Paulie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There are definite risks involved with suspension bondage and this is NOT something that I have personal experience with so if this is something that you're interested in, do your research first so that it's something that you can do safely.

A soft rapping at the door to his office made Iceburg look up and his eyes widened when he saw who was walking into the room.

“Paulie?”

His initial surprise and delight gave way to worry and Paulie laughed as his husband began to scroll across the surface of the tablet on his desk in an attempt to find his daily schedule. 

“Did we have something planned?”

“No,” Paulie answered, before Iceburg could devolve into too much of a nervous wreck at the thought of a conflicting agenda. “I’m just helping Franky out tonight with that, uh, home gym installation in the swanky mansion up north, you know?”

“Mm, ah…” Iceburg hesitated. “Yes. You said you know the owner didn’t you?”

“Not _know_ , but, he and his partner were both at NWH around the same time as me. And they’re both pretty famous. But anyway, your office is on my way up there so I thought I’d stop in and say hi.”

“Well…” Iceburg’s expression softened. “Hi.”

Paulie took a seat on the edge of Iceburg’s desk and bent low to give him a kiss. “Hi.”

They passed a brief moment in silence before Iceburg spoke up. “Do you have any plans for tonight? Once you’re done working.”

“No, why?”

“Could we…would you be willing to do some suspension tonight?”

Paulie’s eyebrows rose. “Sure. What are you thinking?”

“Mm, partial,” Iceburg mused, his cheeks coloring a little. “No penetration, my stomach hasn’t been agreeing with me since the sushi last night.” Paulie laughed softly and nodded as Iceburg continued. “Wouldn’t say no to a blowjob though.”

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Paulie teased lightly.

“Yes, all day. I have a meeting in about an hour that I’m very much not looking forward to, and I want to be able to just let go when I get home.”

“Sure. No problem. I can get things set up.” Paulie leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and slower, but he pulled back before Iceburg could make an effort to deepen it. “Focus on your meeting for now,” he said gently. “And then once you’re home I’ll make you forget all about it.”

* * *

Iceburg called Paulie on his way out from his office, so when he opened the front door, his husband was at the kitchen island waiting for him. He handed over a glass of water and a bowl of fruit and Iceburg took the former as he shook his head at the latter.

“I’m not hungry.”

“And I’m not going to suspend you on an empty stomach,” Paulie replied firmly. “Especially since you said it's already been bothering you a little.”

Iceburg gave a grudging nod, eating a handful of grapes as he sipped slowly at the water. Once Paulie was content with the amount he’d gotten down, they moved back to their bedroom, where Paulie already had things set up for their evening’s activities. 

“Do you want me wearing anything in particular?” Paulie asked, watching as Iceburg began to undo his tie.

“Nothing, preferably,” Iceburg answered, earning a low chuckle. 

“I thought you were just trying to relax tonight, orgasm optional.”

Iceburg shrugged, absently tossing his shirt onto the floor as his hands moved to his belt. “I said I wanted to be able to let go, forget about what I had to deal with today. And, ah, a naked husband is rather distracting.” 

Paulie’s response died in a groan as Iceburg shucked off his slacks. “Sock garters, Burg? Are you trying to kill me?”

Iceburg’s gaze sparkled with amusement. “Mm, I’m revoking the ‘optional’.”

Paulie guided Iceburg down to sit on the edge of the bed, lifting up one of his legs and playing his fingers across the thin garter in a reverent motion. “How do you make shit like this look so damn sexy?”

Iceburg made a vague, sweeping gesture across his body and Paulie nodded in breathless agreement. 

“Stretch out a little while I undress?”

Nodding, Iceburg began to stretch, working some of the tension from the day away and heaving a long sigh. 

When Paulie was naked, he shuffled forward to stand between Iceburg’s legs, leaning down and pressing a few soft kisses across his lips and the stubble of his beard before pulling away again. 

“Ready when you are.”

Iceburg stood, watching serenely as Paulie triple checked what he’d already prepared and then began to slowly work a few lines of natural hemp across his skin. 

Paulie worked in a concentrated silence, the tip of his tongue stuck out from between his lips in a gesture so absent-minded and adorable that Iceburg couldn’t help from smiling fondly. Paulie caught the twitch of his lips and raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Iceburg answered. “You just look so good when you’re working with rope.”

“Oh, yeah? Well…” Paulie took a step back to admire his work and then almost immediately stepped back forward again, hooking one hand around the back of Iceburg’s neck and leaning in for a kiss. His nails scratched through the shorter strands of Iceburg’s undercut, earning a low, muffled groan against his lips that allowed Paulie to slip his tongue through and lick along the roof of his mouth.

“You always look so good like _this_ ,” Paulie finished, tone warm with affection. “I love how much you trust me. And how much it turns you on.”

Iceburg’s dick twitched slightly against his thigh, still mostly soft, but beginning to show signs of interest as Paulie kissed him and worked the thick rope across his skin.

Once he was finished, he stepped back, waiting a few seconds to allow Iceburg to assess the bindings and the comfort of his partially suspended position before speaking up. 

“Color?”

“Green. This is perfect, Paulie, thank you.”

Iceburg was already looking a little dreamy, his efforts at controlled breathing soothing and relaxing the tension that had been building in his limbs from the day’s frustrations. He could feel the brush of the rope across his slowly flushing skin, the points of tension where his weight was settled, the slow tracing of Paulie’s fingers over his body. It was calming, steady, and took just enough focus to keep his mind from wandering beyond the constant haze of trust and love and slowly mounting pleasure.

“Just keep me updated,” Paulie murmured. “Let me know what you need and when you need it. I’m all yours.”

Iceburg nodded vaguely, losing himself in the feeling of Paulie’s calloused fingertips. He had begun to follow the curving lines of the tattoo across Iceburg’s thigh, framed by rope on either side and all the more attractive for it. 

“Paulie…”

“Hm?”

“Can you…tease a bit? Don’t just use your hand, but, I want to…” Iceburg’s brow furrowed slightly and Paulie finished for him before he could pull himself too far out from his current mindset.

“Get hard?” he suggested. “So you can come in my mouth?”

Iceburg nodded in answer, his breath hitching when Paulie moved to his knees. His chapped lips brushed over the soft skin of Iceburg’s inner thigh, his tongue catching lightly on the finer hairs as he lapped across a fading bruise. 

One hand shifted around toward Iceburg’s ass, kneading softly and drawing out a low groan as his cock began to swell. Paulie leaned in, dragging his tongue in a long stroke over Iceburg’s balls and earning a twitch against his nose for the effort. 

“That’s a little more than a tease,” Iceburg panted, one of his hands falling to tangle in Paulie’s long hair. 

“Well…” Paulie shrugged unapologetically, casting a dark look up toward Iceburg that made his cock jump against Paulie’s flushed cheek. “I want to taste you.”

Using the hand at the back of his head, Iceburg guided Paulie forward, his head tipping back when Paulie parted his lips and began to slowly sink down at the pace Iceburg was encouraging. 

“God, Paulie, your mouth is incredible.”

Paulie grinned as best he could with his husband’s dick halfway in his mouth, tongue lolling out to allow spit to pool along it and wet his throat. When he began to suck, Iceburg’s fingers tightened their grip, a throaty moan making Paulie’s eyes flick up so he could watch Iceburg’s reactions. 

Iceburg’s jaw was slack, panting breaths leaving his parted lips as his chest began to rise and fall with increasingly less control. He had his eyes closed, a slight furrow in his brow, the beginnings of a tremor in the leg that was planted firmly on the floor. 

Paulie sank down deeper, his nose pressing into the trimmed curls at the base of Iceburg’s cock and pulling another low groan from above him. As soon as Iceburg’s grip in his hair loosened a little, he began to bob his head, working his tongue in short strokes along the underside of his dick and sucking around the head on every withdrawal. 

“Paulie…I’m not…” Iceburg’s cheeks tinted, his gaze hazy when his eyes opened again. “This won’t take much longer.”

Paulie nodded in acknowledgment, a sharp lance of arousal heating the pit of his stomach at the admission of just how quickly he could bring his husband to an orgasm. 

He shifted his free hand to collect a little of the saliva sliding down his chin and then brought it to his own cock, stroking in time with the bobbing of his head. 

Less than a minute later, Iceburg let out a particularly strangled cry, his hand inadvertently shoving Paulie all the way down on his cock as he rolled his hips forward and came down his throat. 

Paulie swallowed every drop that spilled, tongue making long stripes over the head to make sure he had gotten all of it before pulling back and letting Iceburg sag into the support of the ropes. 

He shuffled to his feet, fist tight over the head of his cock where he’d clenched it in an attempt to hold out through Iceburg’s orgasm. 

“Can I come on you, Iceburg?”

He nodded, eyes fluttering back open to watch as Paulie worked in a few quick strokes, aiming his cock up toward the still trembling expanse of Iceburg’s abdomen. His muscles jumped beneath the first hot streak of cum, breath coming out in a low shudder as Paulie continued to pump his fingers, cum spilling warm and thick across his lower belly and beginning to slide down his unbound leg. 

When Paulie managed to catch his breath, he placed a steadying hand across Iceburg’s hip. “Color?”

“Mm, ah, still very green,” Iceburg answered, smiling softly when Paulie nodded and gesturing him forward for a kiss. “Thank you, Paulie. That was…very good.”

“Yeah, it looked like it,” Paulie teased with a grin. 

“I don’t just mean the orgasm,” Iceburg answered, lips quirking up into a wider smile. “Although that was particularly enjoyable. I mean all of it, Paulie. I needed this.”

Paulie leaned in for another kiss. “You’re welcome. I’m always here for you, Burg. And whenever you have a rough day or just decide you want to use some rope,” He grinned against Iceburg’s lips, and then stepped back to admire the open vulnerability of his position. “Count me in.”


	27. Trampling (Bartolomeo/Cavendish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a few things this time. 
> 
> First off, this is another one that can be dangerous and can very easily result in injury, so, as always, research, consent, and communication are all very important. 
> 
> Second, I tagged CBT just in case because I didn't want to blindside anybody, but I really hesitate to classify it as that. Tl;dr, Barto gets his dick stepped on, but Cavendish is very gentle and careful about it. If that's still a no from you, that's absolutely fine. Go enjoy one of the other 13 chapters I've written about these idiots being horny instead or do literally whatever else you want.

Bartolomeo was fidgety, as a rule, almost always drumming his fingers or tapping a foot in a completely absent rhythm that Cavendish had grown accustomed to. But, this was excessive. And Cavendish was going to determine the cause of it. 

“Bartolomeo?”

He practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name, cheeks flushing as he shot a glance over at Cavendish where he sat on the counter. The wooden spoon in his hand stopped its frenetic clanging against the pot on the stove, hovering for a moment in the grip of his still twitching fingers. 

“What?”

Cavendish reached out and tapped a finger against his partner’s forehead. “What’s going on in here? I can tell you’re thinking about something.”

Bartolomeo was quiet for a long moment. Cavendish watched as his blush deepened, considerably.

Silently, he stirred the spoon around and then pulled it back from the pot to offer it to his taste tester. It was when the spoon was halfway in Cavendish’s mouth that he finally blurted out his answer. 

“I want you to step on me.”

Cavendish slowly lowered the spoon back into the pot. His eyes traveled downward toward the slight tent at the front of Bartolomeo’s apron, evidently having risen from the mere thought of what Bartolomeo was suggesting.

“Now?”

“No,” Bartolomeo muttered, a little defensively. “I’m hungry.” He shifted in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the evidence of his obtrusively mounting arousal. “But…soon?”

“Okay.” Cavendish sat for a moment in thoughtful silence. “More garlic. Is it a foot thing?”

“I…N-no?” Bartolomeo stammered, following the cooking suggestion and then raising a self-conscious hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe? I mean…I guess your feet are pretty sexy, but, it’s uh…more of a…con-control…thing? I like the thought of you just…deciding where you’d want to step on me, and um, maybe, markin’ me up a little, with a pair of your heels?”

Cavendish didn’t look the slightest bit perturbed, and they’d done things together in the proverbial bedroom that were more taboo than this on multiple occasions, but Bartolomeo couldn’t help his rising embarrassment. He focused for a moment on adding the rest of the ingredients to the pot in front of him before continuing. 

“Plus, I just like how it feels when ya lay on top of me when we’re snuggling. Like the, uh, the pressure of it, ya know?”

Cavendish nodded. It wasn’t anything he’d ever really considered, but, he couldn’t deny getting turned on by the thought of it now that it was in front of him. “Sure. Give me a week or two to read up on it first, but, I can pencil it in for the evening of the…23rd? I think we’re both free that night.”

Bartolomeo couldn’t help the mental picture of Cavendish adding ‘step on Barto’ to the very public schedule he shared with the people who worked for him, or the way his blush deepened even further in response. 

“Okay. I can send ya a few links.”

Cavendish smiled fondly at that and Bartolomeo gave him a crooked grin. 

As Bartolomeo covered the pot and prepared to let it simmer until it was done, Cavendish hopped down from the counter. He gave Bartolomeo a quick kiss and an affectionate pat on the ass before dropping to his knees on the tile and reaching for the bottom of Barto’s apron. 

“Go ahead and tell me more about what you want, Barto. I want to know _exactly_ what got you this excited thinking about it.”

He palmed the bulge in Bartolomeo’s boxers and earned a breathless groan before Bartolomeo began to speak, haltingly, until he was telling Cavendish in a desperate ramble just how much this was something he wanted. 

And that had led them here.

“Barto, open your eyes.”

Bartolomeo’s lids fluttered, gaze zeroing in on Cavendish where he was leaned against the entrance to their walk-in closet. 

“Are you happy with it?”

Cavendish was wearing a pale blue babydoll, purchased by Bartolomeo himself, with white thigh-high stockings hooked to the garter belt cinched around his thin waist. It was a very sweet and innocent ensemble in its entirety, a bit incongruous with the fact that he was about to step on his practically drooling boyfriend on the other side of the room.

“Uh huh. Looks…uh…” Bartolomeo’s eyes fell to the strappy white stilettos that completed the outfit and his nails dug into either arm of the chair where he was sitting. “Hot damn ya look good, baby.”

Cavendish moved across the room, settling between Bartolomeo’s spread knees and leaning down for a kiss. 

“When do you want me to start?”

Bartolomeo licked his lips, pleased by the familiar tingle of Cavendish’s chapstick. “Whenever.”

Cavendish spent a moment just kissing softly across his flushed skin, brushing his lips over both cheeks and along his brow before returning to hover over his lips. 

“Lay down on the floor.”

Bartolomeo moved immediately, settling onto his back on the carpet, palms down flat at his sides and cock twitching eagerly toward the ceiling. He watched the carpet sink down with the press of Cavendish’s heels as he turned to sit in the chair, mind growing foggy as he prepared to feel that same press against his skin.

“We can try to get you nice and deep in subspace another time,” Cavendish said as he settled down. “Let you just be a pretty, ornamental carpet. But since this is both of our first time, make sure you talk to me, okay? Let me know what’s good and what isn’t, and if you feel yourself slipping too far or I do anything you aren’t comfortable with, use your safeword. I’ll keep an eye on you in case you go too far too fast.”

Bartolomeo nodded in acknowledgment, watching as Cavendish lifted one of his legs, hovering it over his splayed-out form for just a moment before deciding where he wanted to begin. 

Cavendish started slowly, just dragging the sharp edge of his stiletto across Bartolomeo’s thigh, leaving a faint trail of pink that rose up against his tanned skin.

“That’s good,” Barto murmured, shifting a little to try and get a look at how easily the mark was fading. “Maybe a little harder. It tickled a bit.”

Cavendish scratched in another long arc, across the width of his chest this time, pausing for just a second to press the flat square of his heel into one of Bartolomeo’s nipples and earning a muffled keen.

Then, when he thought they were both ready, he lifted one foot all the way and planted it firmly on Bartolomeo’s chest, pressing his weight down on it for a moment before easing up again and leaning back in the chair. He earned a whimper for the effort, and saw Bartolomeo’s cock jump in his periphery.

Cavendish repeated the motion with a little more pressure than before, a red imprint rising in the shape of his shoe against the heaving muscles of Bartolomeo’s chest. 

“How does that feel, Barto?”

“Great,” he murmured, head lolled back on the carpet and eyes closed. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’, baby.”

The gentle weight of what Cavendish was doing was surprisingly soothing, the thrill of not knowing where he might apply it next just exciting enough to keep Bartolomeo balanced on the thin line between relaxed and aroused.

Cavendish wasn’t a tiny man by any means, but with six inches and over a hundred pounds on him, Bartolomeo always felt a little _big_ next to him, and there was something he enjoyed about turning the tables and being literally underfoot. 

The next press was applied to his cheek, and when Bartolomeo’s eyes opened back up, dark and wide and adoring, Cavendish pushed a little bit harder. 

“You look good under my heel like this, Bartolomeo,” Cavendish said softly, his own gaze steady and intense. “Do you feel good too?”

“Yeah, babe,” Bartolomeo answered. Cavendish tilted the angle of his foot, pushing Bartolomeo’s face sideways against the carpet, and he was a little muffled by the press of his cheek against his panting mouth. “It’s… _you’re_ hot. Really—” Cavendish trailed the tapered heel over the shell of Bartolomeo’s ear and he let out a low moan. “ _Fuck_ , Cav, that feels _amazing_.”

Cavendish continued for a little bit, alternating between tracing over the outside of it and down to his pierced earlobe and pressing it gently against the side of his head. By the time he pulled away, Bartolomeo was trembling, his jaw slack and cock twitching, neglected between his thighs. 

“I love how sensitive your ears are, Barto.”

Bartolomeo just grunted in reply, his head turning back now that it was able and his eyes making a slow arc over Cavendish’s reclined frame. 

He was leaned against the back of the chair, both hands tight on the armrests, and Bartolomeo could see a damp spot beginning to form on the sheer fabric of the babydoll where it was lifted by Cavendish’s erection. 

“Can ya…start movin’ down?” Bartolomeo asked. “Still dunno what all I want yet, but, it felt nice on my thigh earlier.”

In any other context, Cavendish would urge him to say it politely, or chastise him for making a request in the first place, but it looked like Bartolomeo was still getting the submissive thrill that he wanted out of this particular act, and Cavendish didn’t feel comfortable taking away too much of his agency on their very first attempt.

“Sure, baby. Do you still want the heels on?”

Bartolomeo lifted a hand to run slowly along the back of Cavendish’s calf, enjoying the soft fabric of the stockings beneath his fingertips. Cavendish shuddered at the touch, a soft gasp parting his lips, and Bartolomeo had to drop his hand back down again before he got the urge to break out of the role he’d set for himself and start moving any higher. 

“Yeah.”

They both settled back down again, and Cavendish shifted his weight to press down on the thickest part of Bartolomeo’s thigh, pushing harder in small increments until the pattern from the sole of his heel was branded lightly against the flushed skin. 

_“Shit, Cav, just like that.”_

Bartolomeo’s cock was hard and flushed, pre-cum beginning to smear against his belly with every fitful bob as Cavendish’s heel made contact. He wanted—well, he thought he might want…

His whole body arched upward when Cavendish scratched over his inner thigh with the sharp edge of the heel, just hard enough to feel a brief sting of pain before a wave of pleasure washed over him. 

“Oh, _fuck_.”

“More?”

_“More.”_

Cavendish repeated the motion, leaving a faint crisscross of lightly rising welts over the sensitive skin. Bartolomeo jerked with every added line, his senses beginning to focus down on the sensation as his mind grew increasingly foggy with lust and the familiar haze of submission. Before they could fade completely, he registered a slick, rhythmic sound from above him and his eyes snapped back open to find Cavendish slowly beginning to jack himself off, his hand moving in a steady arc up and down over his cock as he stared transfixed at the marks he was creating.

The expression on his face made Bartolomeo’s decision easy, and he rasped out a wavering request. 

“Step on my cock.”

Cavendish’s eyes shifted swiftly, his pupils widening at the pleading look that Bartolomeo was sending up toward him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please, baby, _please_.”

Cavendish leaned forward in the chair, making sure he was settled with enough control over his own balance to be as careful as he needed to be. He shifted his foot, settling the toe of his shoe just against the underside of the head before beginning to push down, pressing until Bartolomeo’s cock was flat against his abdomen, the heel just resting lightly on his balls without applying any pressure. 

The moan that ripped from Bartolomeo’s throat was astounding. Low, and raspy, and _needy_. 

“You like having my shoe on your dick, sweet boy?”

“Yes, God, _yes_.”

Bartolomeo had begun to move, and Cavendish let him. The shift from pressure everywhere around his aching erection to directly against it was dizzying in its intensity, and Bartolomeo couldn’t help but try and chase the friction after so long without it. 

Frowning slightly, Cavendish stopped the stroking of his hand and peered down to gauge Bartolomeo’s expression. He was starting to look a little too vague, so Cavendish spoke up again.

“Are you still with me, Barto?”

“Yeah,” he said instantly. “Yeah, I promise. Just…p-please, keep… _please_.”

Cavendish eased up just enough to give Barto a little better range of motion and his hips rocked eagerly upward, trying not to move too much and jostle Cavendish out of position, but just as desperately gain what pleasure he could from the lightly grooved sole of Cavendish’s heel. It was almost embarrassing how good it felt, and how obvious it now was that he had gotten so close to the edge just from the gentle pressure and scratching of Cavendish’s heels. 

When Cavendish tilted his foot forward just slightly Bartolomeo stuttered out a moan, mouth hanging open and eyes going blank. He rutted up against the press of his shoe, breathing becoming ragged. He started to tremble, his movements growing jerky and uncoordinated. Cavendish tilted his head.

“Are you going to come on my shoe, Bartolomeo?”

Barto blinked, and then flushed a deep red as he cast a glance downward. When he looked back up at Cavendish his eyes were glassy, an expression of hopeful desperation shining behind a sheen of unshed tears. 

“C-can I?”

Cavendish nodded. He felt a hot surge of arousal as Bartolomeo arched off the carpet, his orgasm triggered almost instantly by the granted permission as he spilled across his chest. An idea sprang to life in Cavendish’s mind and he brought his hand back to his own cock with an almost frantic urgency, only needing a few more deliberate pumps before he was coming in hot spurts over Bartolomeo’s prone form, their cum mixing in a slick mess over Bartolomeo’s tattoo as his chest heaved. Lifting his foot, Cavendish released Bartolomeo’s still twitching dick and moved it over, smearing his shoe through the tacky pool of cum and grinding it down against Bartolomeo’s flushed skin. 

He let out a strangled cry at the motion, and Cavendish watched ravenously as it forced another weak stream from his flagging erection, extending the rush of his orgasm with another shuddering aftershock. 

Eventually, he stilled, and Cavendish lowered himself to the floor on wobbly legs, unfastening and setting aside his heels with a sigh of relief. He reached a hand up to card affectionately through Bartolomeo’s hair, drawing a contented hum out of him. He turned his head into the motion, planting a kiss on Cavendish's forearm. 

“Thanks, Cav,” Bartolomeo mumbled. “I…I loved that, really. How’d you feel?”

“Good,” Cavendish answered, a little surprised by how much he had actually enjoyed the experience. “You know how much I love making you squirm, and you look…very hot doing it under my heels.”

Bartolomeo blushed a little at that. “I didn’t ruin your shoes, did I?”

“Umm…” Cavendish idly picked up the one that had semen slowly crusting between the grooves of the sole and shrugged. “I don’t think so. But, you want to know something?”

“Hm?”

He leaned down, settling with one elbow on Bartolomeo’s chest and watching him exhale a little heavier at the sudden addition of his weight. “I’m very excited to keep trying this, and figure out what both our boundaries are, and then let you get so deep that…” He pressed a kiss to Bartolomeo’s parted lips, smirking against them. “You’re just begging to lick them clean.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bartolomeo said it breathlessly against the brush of Cavendish’s lips and then hooked a hand around his neck to pull him in for another, deeper kiss. “Oh, _fuck yeah_.”


	28. Aftercare (Luffy/Law)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if this turned out exactly the way I intended it to, but here it is anyway. Following a month full of varying degrees of kinky smut, here’s the most important part: aftercare. It’s not something that’s exclusive to hardcore kink or BDSM dynamics, and there are many reasons why aftercare might be necessary and many different interpretations of exactly what it means. This is just one (very fluffy) attempt at one of those interpretations.

“Traffy, you’re back!”

The moment Law stepped through the apartment door, Luffy was wrapped around him, gangly limbs catching in an endearing tangle when he tried to squeeze harder.

“It’s so late.”

“Yeah,” Law answered, tone apologetic and exhausted in equal measure. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Luffy chirped, pulling away so his partner could take off his coat and step fully into the apartment. “I was about to eat, are you hungry?”

“You’re always about to eat,” Law responded fondly, ruffling a hand through Luffy’s already rumpled hair. “But no, I’m not hungry.”

Luffy laughed, shrugged, and bounded away to start rummaging through the cupboards.

He was sitting up on the counter when Law wandered back toward the kitchen, cheeks stuffed full with some type of cracker.

“I’m going to take a shower, and then,” he looked toward the clock on the microwave. “A movie, maybe? I can’t promise I’ll stay awake through a full one but we can finish it tomorrow.”

Luffy popped up a thumb, grinning through a mouthful of crumbs.

Leaving him to it, Law retreated to the bathroom. Underneath the warmth of the water, his muscles began to relax, mind turning from his hard day at work to muse on the evening he had planned with Luffy. It started innocently enough, but by the time his soapy hands began to work over his lower belly, it was simmering with arousal.

He didn’t have an extraordinarily high libido, which only served to make him even more compatible with Luffy, given his general indifference toward sex. But, there were times when the stress of a hard day was enough to make Law crave the closest contact with Luffy that he could achieve. Evidently, today was one of those days.

Law swept a hand along his half-hard cock, but the thought of actually expending the energy to masturbate when he felt dead on his feet just…wasn’t worth it. 

He stepped from the shower, tense now for a different reason, but when he shuffled out toward the kitchen in a towel, Luffy was gone.

“Luffy?”

“I’m in the bedroom,” came the immediate reply. The inconveniently lust-fogged haze of Law’s brain was certain it heard the slight lilt of something promising in the younger man’s tone, but no, he was probably just getting changed into something more comfortable so they could pass out on the couch together with a movie on in the background.

Nonetheless, when Law arrived in the doorway and saw Luffy propped up on his side in their bed, his cock twitched. 

“C’mere, Traffy. Lay down.”

He did, a combination of confusion and arousal churning in his gut and making it clench in a strange, not entirely unpleasant sensation. When Luffy moved to straddle his thighs and brought his fingers to the knot that held up the towel, the former gave way completely to the latter, and Law let out a ragged breath.

“What are you doing, Luffy? This isn’t—I don’t—”

Luffy put a finger over his lips. His expression was uncharacteristically serious. 

“You had a bad day at work, I can tell. And I can make it better.”

“Luffy, you don’t have to,” Law mumbled, but then his boyfriend had his hand around his dick and his head swam with a rush of desire. 

“I know I don’t _have to_ , Traffy,” Luffy responded, eyes rolling. “But I don’t mind. I like making you feel good.”

His fingers moved softly along Law’s shaft, far from inexperienced as they’d once been, but still always very curious and exploratory in a way that made Law’s chest warm with affection. His free hand moved up to brush along the tattoo that spanned most of Law’s torso, tracing the lines with an absent familiarity that had Law sinking into the mattress with a sigh. 

Once Law’s dick was hard in Luffy’s fist and twitching in time to the accelerating beat of his pulse, Luffy shimmied down to sit on his calves, tongue sticking out between his lips as he lowered his head. Luffy licked across the tip and then pulled back, frowning. When the furrow in his brow deepened, Law couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious. 

“What?”

“You bought new soap.” It didn’t quite sound accusatory, but the way Luffy’s eyes narrowed made Law’s reply seem defensive nonetheless.

“The store didn’t have the one we usually use.”

Luffy hummed and made another wide sweep with his tongue that had Law’s breath stuttering. When he pulled back a second time, his expression cleared a little.

“Peach?”

“Uh…” Law cleared his throat and reached out a steadying hand to Luffy’s hair when he sucked on the head to confirm his guess. “Tangerine, I think?”

Luffy hummed again, but this time, it vibrated up through his throat, across his lips and cheeks and tongue, and Law couldn’t help but buck into the sensation.

“You taste like Nami’s perfume smells.”

There was a long string of saliva connecting Luffy’s bottom lip to the weeping slit of Law’s cock. He shuddered when it snapped, leaving a shiny trail across Luffy’s chin.

“Can you not talk about Nami when we’re doing this?”

There was a little bit of broken vulnerability in Law’s tone, but it was soothed instantly by the brightness of Luffy’s answering grin.

“Sorry, Traffy.”

Giggling, he bent back to his task, lips stretching as he sank down over the shaft, his tongue making tiny flicking movements near the base where he couldn’t quite reach. Law groaned low in his throat, wanting nothing more than to grab Luffy’s head and fuck up into his mouth. A surge of guilt followed the mental image of Luffy gagging on his cock, cheeks wet and eyes red, but his body jerked up a little into the contact even so.

The buck of his hips made Luffy pull back again, his eyes wide and full of innocent curiosity. “Do you want to use me, Traffy?”

How he could say things like that without so much as a slight hooding of his lids, Law couldn’t fathom. Luffy really didn’t understand just how deeply he could affect Law, and his stomach twisted a little at the uncomfortable connotation of the question. He didn’t want Luffy to feel used, especially when Law spent all but the final moments of any of their sexual encounters worrying at the back of his mind about whether or not being with him like this was something that Luffy even _wanted_. He understood that it was different, and had had enough frank conversations with Luffy about the differences in their sexualities when they’d first started dating to know that Luffy would never begrudge him his sexual desire, but still, there were times that it made him feel a little uneasy.

“No, Luffy, I—”

Before he could finish whatever his thought was, Luffy was guiding his hands to the back of his head. Law’s long fingers splayed out through his hair in an unconscious gesture, and he offered a strangled swear as Luffy opened his mouth wide and cocked his head a little to the side. 

Pushing aside his worries and insecurities, Law thrust upward, his eyelids fluttering shut as Luffy’s throat accepted the full length of his cock on the first stroke. Luffy adjusted the grip of his mouth, keeping his jaw just loose enough for Law to move with ease, but his lips just tight enough to squeeze and slicken every movement.

“You feel so good, Luffy.”

Luffy gave his hip a light pat to signal letting him go for a moment and his puffy, spit-slick lips curved in a wide grin. 

“You taste so good, Traffy. Kinda salty, like umm…” His expression screwed up for a moment before brightening again. “Beef jerky!”

Law stared at him for a second, dumbfounded, as a veritable torrent of emotions rose to fight for room in the sudden tightness of his chest. 

“I love you, Luffy.”

Luffy laughed softly, propping his elbows up on either side of Law’s spread thighs and licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his desperately twitching cock. 

“I love you too, Law.”

There was a little hint of mischief in Luffy’s wide, dark eyes, just enough to make it clear that he knew exactly how Law felt about him using his given name. He jerked back upward unthinkingly, Luffy’s lips parting in a willing stretch as Law frantically raced toward the orgasm looming on the horizon. 

Law dropped a hand to slip below Luffy’s damp chin, rolling his balls over his fingertips and then pumping at the base of his shaft in tandem with the hollowing of Luffy’s cheeks. He came with a sharp cry, lithe body arching off of the mattress, his hips caught instantly in Luffy’s tight embrace as he looped his arms under him and let him ride out his high in the warm cavern of his throat. 

When his trembling stopped, Luffy let his spent cock slip from his lips with a wet and wholly embarrassing plop. Law’s cheeks colored, but Luffy just hummed and rested his chin on Law’s stomach, smiling up at him. 

“Feel better now, Traffy?”

“Yeah,” he responded. He was still a little dazed, but had enough self-awareness to look down at Luffy with a twinge of uncertainty. “Was that…okay?”

Luffy nodded, tightening the grip of his arms around Law’s waist and nuzzling his nose against the jutting bone of his hip. He didn’t always know what was going on in Law’s brain, but he knew that in the times when his brow got pinched and his lips turned down, a long enough hug almost always did the trick, despite his protests.

Law liked to pretend that he was tough and callous, but Luffy had long since learned that he had moments of vulnerability and insecurity that left him pretty shaken. His fingers trembled as they brushed through Luffy’s hair and Luffy made a little contented sound that brought a slight smile to Law’s lips. 

“I love you, Traffy.”

When cuddling failed, reassurance usually worked, and Luffy grinned when Law’s features visibly relaxed. His hand moved from stroking to ruffle at Luffy’s hair again and his chest rose and fell in a long sigh. 

“I love you too, Luffy.”

Luffy scooted up high enough to give him a loud, sloppy kiss, and then disentangled himself from Law’s boneless form and sprang to his feet. 

“Snacks?”

Law chuckled. “Do you have a brain or is it just another stomach up there?”

Luffy scratched at his head, seeming to think very hard about it, and his eyes widened in excitement as he responded. 

“Ooh, maybe I’m like a cow! One stomach in my head, one in my belly and uh…” He frowned down at his body and then slapped both hands over his stomach. “No, _three_ in here for sure!”

“You know,” Law replied automatically. “Cows don’t actually have four separate stomachs, it’s just—”

Luffy blew a loud raspberry to show how much he cared and then bounded out of the room and toward the kitchen, hollering back over his shoulder. 

“I’ll make you a sandwich if you’re gonna be a buzzkill!”

Law frowned, getting up from the bed and tossing his damp towel in the hamper before pulling on a pair of boxers. 

“Popcorn, I guess?”

Before he could step out of the room, Luffy reappeared with a large bowl and a bottle of Gatorade that he tossed at Law. 

“Are we not going out to the living room?”

Luffy shook his head, setting the food down on his side of the bed and making himself comfortable on Law’s half. He pointed toward Law’s laptop where it sat on his desk and then made a grabbing gesture when Law retrieved it. 

“What are we watching?”

“Mmm…You can choose.”

Law settled down in what little space Luffy had left for him, getting wrapped almost immediately in a tangle of limbs as Luffy deposited the bowl of popcorn on Law’s stomach and started shoveling it into his mouth as if he hadn’t been eating less than half an hour ago.

“Okay, well, there’s a new documentary on Netflix about cardiology that I’ve been—”

“Stampede!” Luffy interrupted, bringing his buttery fingers to the keyboard before Law could start playing whatever boring thing he had been about to describe and navigating over to his most recent pirate-themed movie obsession. 

“We watched that two nights ago, Luffy.”

“And?” Luffy retorted, eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked up toward his boyfriend. “It’s good! Besides, Hammock and Cabbage have camels in it—”

“Cameos.”

Luffy waved a dismissive hand. “And they’re my _friends_ , Traffy.”

“Are they?” Law asked drily. “One’s a fan and the other’s dating one.”

Luffy shrugged and tried his last tactic. “Plus, it’s got pirates!”

“Well…” Law sighed. “I can’t argue with that one.”

Feeling vindicated, Luffy settled back down against Law’s chest with a wide grin as the movie began to play.

Between every other handful that he would jam in his own mouth, Luffy offered Law a piece of popcorn or two out of his palm, giggling every time when Law leaned down to retrieve them, licking a wet stripe across Luffy’s hand in a weak attempt at retaliation. 

The title had just splashed across the screen when Luffy realized that Law was staring down at him and he cocked one eyebrow in an unspoken question. 

“Thank you,” Law said quietly, thumb stroking in a soothing rhythm just below the hem of Luffy’s baggy t-shirt.

Luffy leaned up to kiss him, enjoying the soft touch of his lips and the warmth that spread to settle in his chest. “No problem, Traffy. You spend all of your time taking care of other people at work, I like being able to take care of you at home.”

Law’s cheeks colored, but he accepted Luffy’s assessment without complaint. He didn’t know how it happened exactly, Luffy whirling into his life like a twister made of sunshine and absolutely no sense of self-preservation, and it had taken him a little too long to realize it, but…

Damn, he was lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I actually managed to write something for every day of the month (even if this is the shortest month of the year). I haven’t written this regularly in a very long time, and it felt really good to keep up with something I enjoyed working on. I hope y’all liked it too, and hopefully I’ll be back sooner rather than later with…who knows what else, honestly. I sure as fuck don’t.


End file.
